MARRY ME NOT

AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE MAFIA ROMANCE

HOUSE OF FERRARO

GABRIELLE SANDS

PLAYLIST

“House of Cards” - BTS

“Till The End Of Time (Kiss My Neck)” - Aidan

“Questions (feat. Ari Abdul)” - Presley Regier, Ari Abdul

“out of order” - Ella Boh, Ari Abdul

“at least i mean something to you” - Asal

“FEEL ME” - DAMAGE, PRISET

“OBSESSION - SLOWED” - DAMAGE, PRISET

“NEVER EVER” - Omido

“Beggin’” - Chris Lake, Aluna

“Romantic Gangster” - LEOWOLF

“Do It For Me” - Rosenfeld

“Natural Born Killer” - Highly Suspect

“CRAVE - Slowed” - Beneld, Tara, Hotel Red

“My Name” - Reed Wonder, Aurora Olivas

“raw” - zandros

“Leather & Lace” - Luna Noir.

CONTENTS

Content Warning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

Q&A with Author Gabrielle Sands

Join the Reader Group

Also by Gabrielle Sands

CONTENT WARNING

Please be aware this book contains graphic scenes meant for a mature audience.

Trigger Warnings: violence; explicit sexual content; mentions of sexual assault, emotional manipulation, and physical abuse

For those still deep in the hardest thing they've ever done.

You are a work of art and this is the making.

Keep going.

CHAPTER 1

FABIANA

Where the hell were the programs?

Not in my purse. Not in the trunk of the car. And definitely not by the check-in desk where they were supposed to be laid out in neat, perfectly spaced rows.

I popped out of the small storage room that I’d searched through just in case and brushed a strand of curly hair out of my face.

Goddamnit. I’d wanted tonight to be perfect. To go out on a high note. This was likely the last event I’d ever organize. The wife of a mob boss wasn’t expected to work, and if everything went according to plan, that was exactly what I’d be by next spring.

“There you are!”

I turned just in time for my sister-in-law, Cleo, to shove a champagne flute straight into my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re still looking for the programs.”

“I swear I had them on me when we left the house.”

Cleo hooked an arm around my shoulders and turned me toward the room. “Fabi, do me a favor and glance around. Do any of these people look like they’re wandering around lost?”

My gaze skimmed over the gallery space. There were about a hundred or so guests milling around, admiring my brother’s private art collection. The Rothko on the far wall was proving to be a hit.

“I guess they seem fine,” I conceded.

“Great. Now take a breath, relax, and enjoy the fruits of your labor.” Cleo looped her arm through mine. “Aren’t you glad you were able to wrap up your work in Switzerland early so you could stay in New York? It would’ve been a shame if you’d had to fly back to Europe tomorrow.”

I winced. “Yeah. So glad.”

The truth of the matter was that I’d been sacked, but Cleo didn’t know that. No one here did. The only break I’d caught on my way out of the UN events team in Geneva was that the reason for my abrupt departure was being kept strictly confidential.

I’d planned to give notice next month and tell everyone I was moving back to New York to be closer to family. Instead, my access had been revoked last Monday, and I’d been escorted out by security. Just remembering it made my cheeks burn.

But hey, at least I still had tonight.

Rafe had given me the kind of opportunity other people would kill for. Over the last nine months, I’d personally selected three pieces for his art collection. My art history degree hardly qualified me to make decisions involving millions of dollars, but he knew how much I loved art, so he’d told me to go for it. He’d also asked me to put my event planning skills to use and organize an exhibition showcasing the collection.

It had been the most exciting project I’d ever worked on by far.

Although, when I’d first told my twin sister, Elena, about it, she’d scoffed and called it my consolation prize. She’d said it was the least Rafe could do after summoning me back to marry a man I’d never met.

I took a sip of the champagne. “You really think it’s going well?”

“Everyone is raving about the Motherwell you acquired. And don’t even get me started on how many times I’ve heard someone say the collection has a clear thesis.”

Relief filtered through me. Thank God. My confidence couldn’t withstand another blow.

The crowd parted, and my brother appeared. He paused to shake someone’s hand before joining us, his expression softening the second he looked at Cleo. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you two.”

They shared a quick kiss before Cleo pulled away. “Tell Fabi it’s going well.”

His gaze moved to me. “It is. The thoughtfulness behind it has killed all the unfounded rumors that the collection is just a front for money laundering.”

A wry smile pulled at my lips. The rumors were definitely not unfounded, but they weren’t entirely true either. Sure, some of the collection had helped smooth out certain…financial matters for my brother, but his interest in art was real too—real enough that he’d funded the Foundation for Emerging Artists, the nonprofit exhibition space we were standing in tonight.

“I’m glad I could help.”

Cleo sniffed. “Do I smell food? God, I’m starving. I think the buffet is open.” She grabbed her purse. “I’m off. You two want to join?”

“I’ll find you in a few minutes, tesoro,” Rafe said. “I want to have a word with Fabi.”

She bounded off, leaving the two of us alone. A few quiet seconds passed as we watched people drift through the gallery.

“You don’t hold it against me, do you?”

I glanced at him, noting the tension in his jaw. He hadn’t looked at me when he asked.

“Of course not. We all have to do our part.” I knew Rafe loved me. I also knew that he was still don. I could’ve made both our lives hell by putting up a fight and telling him I wouldn’t marry the man he’d picked for me. But what would that have gotten me? I’d have damaged our relationship, put him in an impossible position, and would’ve probably ended up walking down the aisle anyway.

In a family like ours, everyone was expected to make sacrifices for the benefit of the whole. I was no exception.

He nodded. “I hope you can be happy with him.”

“Me too.” Love or romance were unlikely to be in the cards, and hoping for either was risky. Sure, Cleo and Rafe had it, but for every loving marriage in the mob, there were half a dozen that weren’t. Our own parents’ marriage had been a prime example of that.

What I was hoping for was much more realistic—someone I could get along with. That would be enough for me.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

I finished my champagne and put the empty glass on the high-top table beside me. “I’m going to walk around. I’ll find you and Cleo later?”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Yeah. See you.”

My heels click-clacked against the polished marble floors as I weaved past the crowd in the main gallery. That sharp, staccato sound reminded me of the exhibit hall back at the Palais des Nations in Geneva. After Elena was hired at the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, she’d pushed me to apply for the events role with the UN.

My twin saw my coming back home as a tragedy, but if I was honest, my life abroad had never quite fit me as well as I would’ve liked.

In Geneva, I’d been Fabiana Castellano. A fake. A piece of fiction.

In New York, I was once again Fabiana Messero. The daughter of a dead mob don. The sister of his successor.

It was hard putting down roots somewhere while living under a fake name on borrowed time. My life in Europe was never meant to be permanent because I’d always known I’d come back here when duty called.

I reached a smaller room where a piece I wanted to see was displayed. Spotlights had been angled toward the painting, but the rest of the space was kept dimly lit so nothing would distract from it. There was no one else here.

Bride’s Door loomed before me, vast and solemn. As I walked up to it, goosebumps rose over my skin. It was simple in the way only great art could be. Nothing decorative. Nothing eager to please. Just force and raw emotion that all but broke through the canvas and reached deep into your soul.

It spoke to me the moment I first saw it, most likely because of the situation I’d found myself in. I could almost hear the chiming of wedding bells as I stood there in the empty room.

Soon, I’d be hearing my own.

I let out a breath. The blank canvas to the right of the white panel gave the impression of standing before a door.

What would I find once I stepped over the threshold?

Behind me, footsteps sounded against the concrete.

I glanced over my shoulder. A man had entered the room. He stood in the darkest part of it, his features lost to shadow, his body nothing more than a tall silhouette.

I turned back to the painting. A few moments passed, but I could no longer focus on it. The silence in the room had taken on a strange charge.

“What do you think?” I called out.

“What is it?”

My breath hitched. The man’s voice was low and rich, sliding over my skin like warm oil.

“A painting by Helen Frankenthaler. Bride’s Door.” When he didn’t say anything, I took it as an invitation to continue. “Some people think it’s a meditation on marriage as a threshold into a new life.”

“And what do you think?”

A shiver ran down my spine. With a voice like that, I bet it was easy for him to get anyone to listen to him.

“Um.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “When I look at it, I feel uncertainty. To me, it’s about the moment just before marriage. When you’re still yourself, but you know everything is about to change.” My throat tightened. “You expect to become someone new, but you hope the person you’re marrying will still make room for the parts of you you’re not ready to give up.”

My words filled the air between us, fluttering through the silent room like pages torn from someone’s diary.

Too much. Why did I say all that to a stranger?

“What about you?” I asked, eager to shift the attention off me. “What does it make you feel?”

“Nothing.”

A strange agitation skated beneath my skin. “Nothing?”

A beat. “Nah.”

Awkward. I’d definitely overshared, and he clearly had no intention of doing so himself. I’d come back later, when he was gone, and enjoy the painting again in solitude.

My hands twitched as I tried to find some excuse to escape without making it seem like I was running away.

For God’s sake, I was the organizer. There were a million things I could say I needed to do.

“I should go check on⁠—”

“Actually, there’s something.”

“Oh?” Relief filtered through me. I glanced over my shoulder to find the man had moved closer, but he was still in the shadows. Still hard to make out.

“It makes me feel…wonder,” he said.

I nodded encouragingly. “I can see that. Definitely.”

“Makes me wonder why anyone would spend money on an unfinished painting.”

My heart stuttered. What? “It’s not unfinished.”

“She hadn’t even covered the canvas.”

“That’s on purpose.”

“Seems like she ran out of paint.”

A flabbergasted laugh bubbled up from me. “She didn’t run out of paint. Frankenthaler was highly regarded even in her own lifetime. This isn’t some hack.”

“Sure seems like it to me.”

I glanced toward him again. More like glared. He was standing just on the edge of where the shadows began to recede.

Walk away. Grab another champagne. Forget about him.

“It has no artistic value,” he said in a definitive tone that made it sound like he was the world’s expert on the topic. “No demonstration of skill. A scam. I wonder what convinced Messero to buy it.”

Not what. Who.

Don’t listen to him.

But doubt had slipped in. What if this man was right? What if this had been a bad choice on my part, and everyone but me, Rafe, and Cleo knew it? Had I embarrassed my brother without even realizing it? Had he made a bad mistake trusting me with this?

No, this guy was wrong. He was dismissing the painting outright without even trying to understand. “If all you see when you look at this is an unfinished canvas, I’m afraid you have a poverty of imagination,” I muttered.

“Sounds fatal,” he drawled, sounding faintly amused.

I wasn’t a person who was easily angered. I had a steady temper. Or at least I thought I did, but right at this moment, I couldn’t hold back.

“You know, I pity men like you.”

A chuckle. “This oughta be good.”

“Men who look at something they don’t understand and dismiss it instead of seeing it for the invitation it is.”

“An invitation to do what exactly?”

“To look inward.”

“Maybe I did once and didn’t like what I found enough to do it again.”

Anxiety rushed through me like a spark catching dry grass. For the first time, it occurred to me that this man might not be one of Rafe’s polished society acquaintances or some public company executive.

He might be someone from the other side of my brother’s life. The side people lowered their voices to discuss.

I swallowed. “You’re a friend of my brother’s?”

“Business partner.”

I didn’t have to guess what kind of business he meant.

“Soon we’ll be family.”

Shock ignited through me.

He stepped into the light, and I stopped breathing.

I knew that face.

I’d seen a photo of it for the first time nine months ago when Rafe had informed me about the arrangement he’d made on my behalf.

Cosimo Ferraro. Underboss of the Ferraro family.

And my fiancé.

CHAPTER 2

FABIANA

“Hello, Fabiana.”

For one suspended second, all I could do was stare at him.

What was that? Some kind of a test? He’d known who I was the whole time. And I just— Oh God. Had I really spilled my guts to the man I couldn’t help but think about every time I looked at this painting?

I felt tricked. Trapped. My gaze drifted over him in a desperate attempt to orient myself.

He looked just like the photo I’d seen, but somehow more. A picture couldn’t capture someone’s presence, and Cosimo had the kind of presence that permeated through the entire room. He was huge—tall, broad, well proportioned. A prominent vein ran down the side of his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his white dress shirt. The steel-gray suit fit him perfectly, but even all that expensive fabric couldn’t soften the hard, powerful shape of him.

His lips were just like I remembered from the photo—a little too full, a little too soft for his angular face. The short beard covering his jaw made him look a few years older than his twenty-eight. His hazelnut hair curled slightly, and he’d brushed it out of his face, keeping it in place with a bit of gel.

What struck me most about him were his eyes. In the photo, they’d been flat. Unremarkable. But in person, they were a vivid dark-blue color, and they bore their way into you with a relentless force.

I got the sense this man read people the way mere mortals read ink on paper.

And right now, he was reading me.

I swallowed. The marriage was a done deal, but I still wanted to make a good impression on Cosimo. This was the man I was expected to spend my life with. To eventually have children with.

“Cosimo. I hadn’t realized you’d be here tonight.”

He moved closer, his steps measured and unhurried. “I couldn’t resist seeing the event my fiancée has put together.”

So he knew I’d organized tonight. He probably also knew I was the one who’d advised Rafe to purchase this painting. All of this had been some kind of provocation. Why though?

“Guess I don’t need to ask you what you think about the collection.” If he thought Bride’s Door was “unfinished,” I could already guess what he thought about the rest of the art on display tonight.

His lips twitched. “No.” He stepped around me slowly, his gaze drifting over my body in a way that made my skin prickle with warmth.

I tracked his movements. The top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone, revealing a tattoo of a crown of thorns wrapped around the base of his neck.

“Don’t expect me to let you spend my money on things like this once we’re married. Unlike Messero, I don’t throw money at vanity projects and I despise frivolous spending.”

His words landed with a sharp sting. Wow. Vanity project. That was his verdict regarding tonight.

Somehow—miraculously—I managed to maintain my composure. “Rafaele asked me to help him choose a few new pieces. I don’t make a habit of acquiring fine art.” I lifted my chin. “And should I ever decide to indulge in frivolous spending, my trust fund is more than capable of financing it.”

I’d get access to the money once I was married. My father had made it contingent on the one thing he thought my sister and I were good for.

Cosimo completed his slow circle and stopped in front of me again, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. God, he was tall. When I breathed in, I caught the dark, expensive edge of his cologne, and something low in my stomach tightened.

“Rafaele told me you worked in Geneva. Event planner at the UN.”

“That’s right.”

“You enjoyed it?”

It wasn’t my passion, but I was good at it. I nodded. “I did.”

“Couldn’t have enjoyed it all that much if you’re so eager to come back here to play housewife to a man you’ve never met.”

My nails dug into the flesh of my palms. Rafe wouldn’t pair me with an abusive monster like our father. I knew he’d vetted Cosimo carefully before agreeing to this match. But would he pair me with a run-of-the-mill asshole?

I was starting to realize that wasn’t off the table. Cosimo was prodding at me like I was some strange animal trapped inside a cage.

“Who said I’m eager?”

“Why else come back two months before you were expected to?”

“I had just finished a project at work,” I lied. “Instead of taking on something new I might not get to finish, I thought I could help your mom with the wedding preparations. She’s done so much for us already.”

His gaze darkened for reasons I couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Yes, she’s practically a saint.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her next week.”

“But you met her before.”

“Yes. In Geneva and then in Paris.” The first meeting had been accidental. We were both guests at a fundraiser, and she was seated at my table. I must’ve made a good impression on her then, since the news from Rafe that I’d been chosen to marry her eldest son came only a few months later. The second meeting was after the contract had been signed. She asked me about my preferences for the wedding before telling me she’d take care of it all so that I could keep my focus on my work. I thought that was kind of her.

“She’s lovely,” I said to him.

“She’s already charmed you the way she manages to charm everyone else.”

I frowned. The mockery in his tone had momentarily slipped, revealing something sharp and bitter underneath.

What was that?

“Most women in your position—educated, with a career, having experienced independence—would fight an arrangement like this.”

I met his unreadable gaze. “I guess I’m not most women. The opportunities my brother gave me were contingent on me coming back when duty called. It did. And here I am.”

“Duty,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re doing this.”

What else? Did he think I had some hidden agenda? What possible agenda could anyone in my situation have? “Our families have been at odds with each other for decades. Now there’s a chance to put all of that to rest. If marrying you helps my brother achieve something that important, I’m happy to do it. I’m not arrogant enough to think my personal preferences matter more than the safety and security of the whole family.”

His jaw tightened. “How noble.”

I got the sense my answer had annoyed him. Well, it was the truth.

He glanced at his watch. “This was riveting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”

I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. “I’ll see you on Tuesday then. For our lunch.” It had been arranged a few days ago.

“I can’t make it. Something came up.”

“We can reschedule. Wednesday?”

“Reach out to my secretary.”

I stared at his retreating back, a sinking feeling in my gut. Whatever test this had been, I had a feeling I’d failed. My anxiety spiked. Asshole or not, Rafe was counting on me to make things with Cosimo work. “You sure you don’t want a tour of the full exhibit?” I called out.

“I think I’ve demonstrated my poverty of imagination enough for one night.”

I swallowed down my pride. “Cosimo.”

He halted.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude. You’re entitled to an opinion, even if I disagree with it.”

Slowly, he turned around. At first glance, it seemed my apology had done little to soften him, but he walked back toward me, and when he stopped, he stopped close. Too close.

He towered above me, and I felt very small and very insignificant as he reached into his jacket and produced a black velvet box.

“Almost forgot.” His voice was a low rumble that made something hot drip into my bloodstream. “Your ring. Wear it in public.”

He didn’t hand the box to me. He pressed it against my chest, just above the neckline of my dress. The velvet was soft, his knuckles were warm, and the pressure was firm enough to make my breath catch. For one stunned second, all I could do was stand there with his hand between us and his eyes locked on mine.

Then I lifted my palm and covered the box. Covered his fingers.

His jaw ticked. His gaze fell to my lips.

Slowly, he let go and dragged his hand back. His pinkie skimmed the edge of my neckline as he withdrew, pulling the fabric away from my breasts.

Heat pooled low in my belly.

I forced myself to look down and open the box, to pretend I was focused on the ring and not the ghost of his touch lingering against my skin.

Inside was a solitaire diamond on a pavé band.

Elegant, without a doubt, but utterly impersonal. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d walked into a jewelry store and bought the first thing that the jeweler showed him.

He made no move to put it on me. Even that small gesture was apparently more than I was worth. So I plucked the ring from the velvet and slid it onto my own finger while he watched, humiliation burning a path across my cheeks.

“Beautiful,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.

“I thought you’d be a better liar.”

My gaze snapped from the ring to his face. “And I thought you’d be a gentleman.” I couldn’t hide from the fact that even my modest hopes for this marriage were crumbling in real time.

The corner of his mouth lifted with dark amusement. “Then I guess we’re both headed for disappointment.”

My pulse stumbled as I watched him leave. What was I getting myself into? I’d assumed Cosimo would approach this the same way I was—as a duty, yes, but one we could survive with basic decency and mutual respect.

Instead, I was marrying a man who appeared to have little interest in either.

For the first time since I’d agreed to the match, I wondered how the hell I was supposed to make this work.

CHAPTER 3

COSIMO

My neck cracked as I rolled my head from side to side. The heat in the sauna was thick and engulfing, and I’d been in here long enough for a layer of sweat to coat my skin. With each inhale, the scent of eucalyptus and pine filled my lungs, and it was as familiar as the feel of a trigger beneath my finger.

This was my church. The one place where my mind usually shut the hell up.

Today, it refused.

When I was a kid, my father often took me hiking along a trail in the Palisades. I’d come home with my ankles red and burning from the nettles crowding the path. They looked harmless, but every leaf was covered in thousands of microscopic needles, ready to sting the moment you got too close.

That was Fabiana Messero.

A nettle.

My mother—the architect behind this entire arrangement—would never have paired me with someone she couldn’t use against me. To some people, marriage was sacred. To Vita Ferraro, it was an opportunity. A way to permanently place a woman she owned in my life.

Did Fabiana know what she was to my mother? Was she a willing accomplice, or just naive enough to be steered where Mother wanted? After that meeting in the gallery, I wasn’t quite sure.

But I’d find out soon enough.

The sauna door opened.

I scowled at Alessio and Romolo as they took their time walking in wearing only towels wrapped around their waists. “You’re letting out all the heat.”

“No wonder you never have any company if that’s how you greet people.” Rom deposited a bottle of whiskey and three stacked glasses on the bottom bench.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead. “I don’t remember inviting you two.”

“We’re your brothers. We don’t need an invitation,” Les said, shutting the door behind him. “But you know, you might want to invite the capos over one of these days.”

“What for? I see them enough.”

He settled on the bench below me. “Yeah, to bark out orders and remind everyone how busy you are. Did you have to chew out Spina like that today?”

I glared at the back of his head. “Is the family’s enforcer really telling me to go easy on a guy?”

Alessio shrugged. “He’s young. Hardworking. A little patience would go a long way.”

“If I’m patient with him, how’s he going to learn? My job isn’t to coddle. My job’s to get results.”

Rom took a seat beside Alessio. “I’m with Les. Just admit you were cranky because you were going to ambush your fiancée after the meeting. How did it go, by the way?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” Rom lined up the tumblers and poured.

“I saw pictures online,” Les said. “She’s stunning.”

“Good to know that while I’m scheduling my day in fifteen-minute increments, you somehow have the time to look up women on the internet.” I kept my voice dry to play off the fact that he was right. Plant or not, Fabiana was beautiful. Full cheeks, wide mouth, emerald doe eyes that appeared innocent.

But I knew better than most how deceptive appearances could be. To the world, Vita Ferraro was the perfect mother, but if anyone bothered to peel back her polished veneer, all they’d find was rot on the inside.

“She’s not your type?” Alessio asked.

“Of course she’s not,” Rom butted in. “You heard Mom talk about her. Fabiana’s by the book. Knows how to shut up and do as she’s told. Cosimo prefers women with a backbone.”

“Since when are you an expert on what I prefer?” I cracked my neck again, chasing away the irritation Rom’s little speech had sparked.

I didn’t really have a type. Not really. The reason Rom thought I preferred women with some backbone was because of the woman who’d been at my side for the last three years. Rom was the man in the family who uncovered everyone’s secrets, and yet somehow, after all this time, he still hadn’t uncovered mine.

In any case, he was wrong about Fabiana. She wasn’t a doormat. Sure, she’d come home when Messero summoned her, but she’d held her ground with me, even after she’d found out who I was.

I had always known that one day, when I became don, I’d have to take a wife and start a family. But over my dead body was I going to let Mother dictate who I married. She had spent my whole life trying to keep me under her thumb. When I was a boy, I was powerless. As a teenager, I began to rebel. By my early twenties, her strategy for getting to me evolved.

I guess if I did have a type, it was women who could be bought. And Mother had. She’d gotten all of them to talk. To spy, eavesdrop, and snoop through my shit.

Eventually, I got so fucking sick of it all, I set a one-date limit. That way, no one got too close. But I had to stop even that when I caught one of the women I’d picked up trying to get into my phone. My mother had studied my schedule and put her like live bait in a hotel bar she knew I’d be passing through.

After that, I decided it was time for some offense. I talked to Rosa and laid out my terms. She agreed. For three years, it worked. No matter how Mother tried to get to Rosa, she couldn’t.

I guess she got tired of failing and decided to find me a wife.

“The alliance makes sense,” Alessio said. “Especially with Morales leading in the polls. Have you gotten anything on him yet?” he asked Rom.

Carlos Morales was a guy running for mayor. He’d made it clear that his first agenda item if he won would be putting us behind bars.

“Not yet.” Rom took another sip. “His background is so clean it makes me sick.”

“If he wins the race, we’re in trouble.” Alessio removed the tie from his hair and redid it.

“He talks a big game, but let’s see how brave he’ll be once he’s in office,” I said.

“He’ll have to think twice about taking us on once we formalize our alliance with Messero,” Romolo said.

I glared at the bottom of my glass. The alliance itself made sense. Over the last few years, most of the other NY crime families had disappeared due to outside threats or infighting. By joining with the Messeros, we were buying ourselves longevity that had eluded all the other once-powerful families.

What didn’t make sense was Mother convincing Dad that marriage was the only way to do it. If I’d been allowed an opinion, I could’ve given them better options. Options that tied us to the Messeros through shared incentives, not a contract wrapped around my neck. But by the time I was told, the papers were already signed. Refusing outright was impossible. Dad was the don, and his word was law.

I tipped my head back and exhaled a heavy breath. Fuck. With Fabiana back in town early, Dad wasn’t going to tolerate another delay to the wedding. I’d been kicking the can down the road for as long as I could, but now I could feel the walls closing in around me.

I had no choice but to make time to sort this out, once and for all.

Rom noted my empty glass and held out the bottle. “More?”

“No.” I placed the tumbler on the bench beside me. “I’ve got work to do.”

A knock sounded against the door. It was Tim, my butler. “Mr. Ferraro? You have a visitor.”

“Who is it?”

“Ms. Delgado.”

I looked down at my watch. We’d agreed to meet tonight, but she was early.

Rom arched a brow. “I thought you had work to do.”

“I do.” I got off the bench. It was going to be a late night. Then again, most nights were.

“A quickie then.” Rom snapped at me with a towel. “Enjoy it while you can. Once Mrs. Ferraro moves in, I doubt she’ll be happy with Rosa coming around.”

I wrapped my palm around the door handle. “Good thing Mrs. Ferraro’s happiness is the least of my concerns.”

Rosa sat in one of the two leather chairs across from my desk, her profile bathed in dim-yellow light from the corner lamp I rarely used. She didn’t look up as I came in, she was too busy typing something on her phone.

“You couldn’t wait?” I said as I walked past her. “I was with my brothers.”

“I’ve got a plane to catch in six hours,” she mumbled, still typing. “I’m checking in right now. Lucy and I are staying at the Ritz in Mykonos, and I’m not risking missing the flight because of you.”

I leaned over, swiped her phone out of her hand, and dropped it face down on the desk. “Cancel your trip. Fabiana just returned to New York, and I need you to start digging.”

“You want me to cancel my vacation,” she said in a flat tone. “Are you insane?”

“I need you here.” In my position, there were always problems to deal with, which meant until something was both urgent and important, it sat on the back burner. The engagement had always been an important problem to deal with, but it hadn’t been urgent until now. “You knew what you signed up for when you took the job. I never promised you work-life balance.”

Rosa pinched the bridge of her nose, doing a piss-poor job at hiding the fact that she wanted to strangle me. “Lucy will dump me on the spot. She’s already so very close to being over my shit.”

I waited for her to come to terms with it. We both knew she wasn’t going to refuse my order.

Rosa could be a pain in the ass, but she was useful and loyal to a fault. I’d met her at a poker game where a marked-deck con had gone catastrophically wrong. The Albanian drug trafficker she’d been fleecing finally caught on, and if I hadn’t shot him first, she would’ve ended the night with a bullet in her skull.

I saw potential in her. She was quick, fearless, and very good at making people underestimate her, so I gave her a choice—work for me, or wait for one of the Albanian's associates to come looking for revenge. She took the job.

At last, Rosa sighed. “What’s the plan?”

“I can’t back out of the arrangement. That means the only option I have is to convince her to back out.”

My father had made it clear he wanted the marriage to happen, but if it was Fabiana who pulled out? There’d be nothing my parents could do.

Unlike my parents, I suspected Rafe wouldn’t force his sister into a marriage she didn’t want.

The problem was that right now, she appeared to be committed to it. I needed her to uncommit.

“And how do you intend to do that?” Rosa asked.

“I need to know everything there is to know about her so I can figure out what levers I can pull. I want you to dig into her life in Geneva. Friends. Coworkers. Prior boyfriends. If she’s got any skeletons in her closet, I want to know about them.”

Rosa let out a humorless laugh. “Geneva? Cosimo, it’s one thing to play your fake girlfriend so I can waltz into the right rooms and eavesdrop on people who think I’m too pretty to be paying attention. But finding dirt on your fiancée who lived in another country most of her life, a country where I have no established contacts? I’m good, but I’m not that good. For all we know, there are no skeletons to dig up.”

“We won’t know until we try to find them.” Sure, it was possible Fabiana was completely clean, but I didn’t buy it. I knew my mother. She always liked to have something she could use if the situation demanded it.

“If the goal is to get her to call it off, why not just parade me in front of her?”

I shook my head. “Too obvious. It can’t look like I’m trying to sabotage the match on purpose. The situation is delicate.”

Rosa sighed and dug her car keys out of her purse. “I’m booking a five-star hotel in Geneva and ordering room service every night. Every last cent is going on your card.”

“Send me the receipts. And don’t test me by slipping in extras.”

She had the gall to look offended. “If we were really together, you’d be buying me a lot more than those tiny diamond earrings I had to buy myself.”

“You have a very inflated idea of my generosity.”

Rosa huffed. “That poor girl has no idea what she’s getting herself into. If I do find something and it convinces her to cancel the engagement, I’ll be doing her a favor.”

My gaze narrowed. “Careful.” We might have developed a certain rapport over the years, but we weren’t friends. I didn’t have friends. My brothers were family, and even they didn’t know about the arrangement between Rosa and me. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them. I just liked to keep my life compartmentalized. No one person was allowed the full picture.

She stood.

“Close the door on your way out.”

She slammed it behind her.

I shook my head at the door. Rosa had an attitude, but she was effective. If luck was on our side, she’d have something for me before I saw Fabiana next.

I dragged my palms over my face and yawned. Fuck, I was tired. Sleep tugged on me despite my day being far from over. There were contracts to review, a call to a capo who’d been slacking that couldn’t wait another day, and that request from…

I shut my eyes.

Just for a minute or two.

Instead of the usual inventory of tomorrow’s problems, the film reel in my head began to run the other way.

Back to the green-eyed girl in the yellow silk dress who had stood in front of me, furious and beautiful, and told me she pitied me.

Amusement tugged on my lips at the memory. That little Nettle should have bored me. Girls like her usually did. Pretty, polished, and raised to smile through whatever men like me demanded of them.

But Fabiana hadn’t smiled. She’d pushed back.

I could still feel the brief press of her palm over my fingers when she took the ring box from me. Still hear that small hitch in her breath when my hand lingered too long against her chest.

I’d done it to unsettle her.

I hadn’t expected it to unsettle me.

And I sure as hell hadn’t expected to feel that brief spark of attraction. The kind I hadn’t felt in years.

The sooner I dealt with this problem, the better. While Rosa searched for something I could use against Fabiana, I needed to focus on the part of the plan already within my control. If my fiancée was determined to do her duty, I’d make sure that duty felt like a life sentence.

I’d be cold. Dismissive. Impossible to please.

The kind of man no woman in her right mind would choose to marry.

CHAPTER 4

FABIANA

“I want you to know that I’m always here for you,” Vita said once the waiter had taken our orders. She held her coffee cup in both hands, watching me with the warmth of a woman who had already decided she liked me. “If you ever need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Working at the UN, I’d met elegant women. Eloquent women. Women who knew how to command a room.

But Vita Ferraro? She was in a league of her own.

Now in her fifties, she was a retired runway model who’d never lost her slim figure or her ability to navigate the glistening marble floors of a restaurant in high heels. Her silver hair swished in a mesmerizing curtain behind her as she walked. We sat at a table by the window, and the sun caressed the flawless planes of her face like an old, greedy lover.

It was no wonder Gino Ferraro had fallen for her. Even after thirty years together, they had a famously strong marriage, unblemished by scandals or affairs. She also had a prominent role in the family business. Rafe had mentioned she’d recently become the chairwoman of Ferraro Holdings, the company that handled the Ferraros’ legitimate business interests.

“That’s very kind of you,” I said. After my disastrous first meeting with Cosimo, we hadn’t managed to reschedule our lunch. Or, to be more accurate, his assistant had given me a date, then canceled it and told me he’d see me at our engagement party next week.

It was a relief that at least my lunch with his mom was going smoothly.

“I mean it.” She set the cup down on the saucer. “Marrying someone of Cosimo’s stature… It’s not an easy life to step into. But based on what I know about you, I’m sure you’ll adapt.”

Adapt. I smiled despite the word scraping against me. It sounded like something you said to someone about to start a diet.

“Is there anything in particular I should be aware of? In terms of what will be expected of me as Cosimo’s wife?”

“Well, most women don’t understand the rules of this world until they’re already in it, but you have an advantage. You were born into it. You’re the daughter of a don.”

I wondered how much she knew about my father. “Growing up, not once did I think that having the father I did was an advantage.”

Vita’s smile turned apologetic. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I know things were difficult for you growing up.” She sighed. “Your poor mother. How is she?”

I twisted the engagement ring on my finger. “She’s much happier in the Hamptons.” Mom moved out there after Dad died, and she rarely came back to the city. The physical scars he’d left might have healed, but the psychological ones remained. She preferred isolation and a life away from the bustling city that reminded her of the decades she’d lived here.

I hoped she’d make it to the wedding, but I wouldn’t hold it against her if she didn’t. Given how her own arranged marriage had worked out, all of this was triggering her.

“All I meant was that you already understand the reality of this kind of a marriage. Cosimo’s primary responsibility is to the family, and your primary responsibility is to him. That asymmetry is hard to reconcile for many people. As are the sacrifices wives in our position all inevitably need to make.”

“Did you give up your career completely when you married Gino?”

Vita peered at me over the rim of her cup. “Yes. Modeling was simply incompatible with the role I was expected to play by his side.”

“What role was that?”

“Creating a home. Raising his children. Being a friendly face he looked forward to seeing at the end of the day.”

“But now you do much more than that.”

She stirred her cappuccino. “I wouldn’t focus on goals like that if I were you. All Cosimo needs right now is someone steady. Someone who knows her place, and who won’t ask for what he’s not able to give.”

The waiter came around to drop off our plates, and I refolded the napkin on my lap.

Someone who knows her place. My mind latched onto that phrase and turned it over and over, trying to make it more palatable. I’m sure Vita hadn’t meant to minimize me when she’d said it. She’d been unfailingly kind ever since the first time we met. But I could feel the cage forming around me, one bar at a time.

The waiter stepped away.

“Did I upset you?” Vita asked.

“No, not at all. I’m just processing.”

“It’s a lot to process,” she said kindly. “Cosimo will do his duty,” she went on. “And you must do yours. The rest, if it comes, comes. If it does not, a marriage can still be a strong one.”

“It came for you, didn’t it?”

She gave me an indulgent smile. “Your future father-in-law and I are an exception. Wise women do not build their lives expecting exceptions. An arrangement like yours and Cosimo’s—a strategic match—will keep everything a lot simpler.”

She picked up her cutlery again. The restaurant hummed quietly around us. I chewed on my salad and told myself that I could handle everything Vita was preparing me for. That it wasn’t even that far from what I’d expected.

And yet the thought of a quiet house, an empty seat at the dinner table each evening, and a husband who treated me like an ornament caused a pit to open up in my stomach, a pit I wasn’t sure how to fill.

When we were finished with our food, Vita paid, and we walked to the front of the restaurant.

She gave me a quick hug. “I’m in your corner, all right?” She smiled at me, but a certain tension slipped into her expression. “Cosimo’s stubborn. I’ll admit it’s taken some time to get him on board with this arrangement. Nothing to do with you, of course. He—like any other man—simply doesn’t like being told what to do.”

Oh. That was the first thing I’d heard all lunch that made me relax a little. So it wasn’t personal. I mean, how could it be personal? Cosimo didn’t even know me.

“If his behavior crosses a line, I want you to tell me,” she continued. “He doesn’t need to be happy about this, but he does need to cooperate.”

Tell her about the awkward first meeting. Tell her that his assistant never got back to you to reschedule.

Vita was leaving every door open, and yet something stopped me from confiding in her.

Inviting another person into our relationship this early on felt wrong. Business arrangement or not, Cosimo and I needed to learn how to resolve things without an intermediary.

I’d try to make some progress with him myself before asking Vita for help.

I just hoped I was making the right call instead of setting myself up for more disappointment.

CHAPTER 5

FABIANA

My brother’s backyard had been transformed into a glittering backdrop for my engagement party. The sun glinted off sweating glasses of Tuscany’s finest rosé, tuxedo-clad servers passed by with trays of delicate canapés, and smooth jazz played by a live band weaved through the air.

“I just can’t get enough of him.” Cosimo’s Aunt Lisa was a burst of color in a flower-patterned jumpsuit. From the moment she’d introduced herself, she hadn’t stopped fawning over the tiny cream-colored Pomeranian in Cleo’s arms—the newest addition to the Messero family. “I might just steal him away. How old is he?”

Cleo adjusted her grip on the pup. She wore a sleek green cocktail dress that looked sensational on her and made her thick red hair look even more fiery than usual. “Yeti’s three months old.”

“He looks just like the dog we had when I was a child. Have you started training him?”

I let my attention drift from their conversation and scanned the crowd for Cosimo. Again.

You really think he won’t show up to his own engagement party?

He couldn’t not show up. He wasn’t even that late. The guests had only started to arrive. Still, anxiety churned in the pit of my belly. I was resolved to make sure our second meeting went better than the first.

The engagement photoshoot was happening today. I hated getting my pictures taken. I never liked how I turned out in them. These photos would be going out to hundreds of people on our wedding invitations, which only made me dread them more.

Feigning romance for the camera? I let out a tense sigh. Cosimo had been a jerk back at the gallery, but my body hadn’t gotten the memo. I hadn’t forgotten the way it reacted when he’d invaded my personal space to give me the engagement ring.

Today, we were going to get a lot more hands-on. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by getting flustered in front of a man who clearly wasn’t affected by me in any way, and I was far from confident in my ability to keep my cool.

Aunt Lisa patted Yeti’s head. “Look how calm he is. Could I hold him?”

Cleo handed the puppy over to her, then she caught my eye and nodded toward the far end of the garden. “Your future in-laws have arrived.”

Gino and Vita had just walked through the gate. I waved to get Vita’s attention. I hadn’t met Gino in person yet.

“Actually, I just remembered I need to make a quick phone call.” Lisa handed the pup back to Cleo. “So sorry. It was nice to meet you, Fabiana,” she said with a smile that seemed a little tense.

“You too,” I said.

She plucked a flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and hurried away.

Gino held Vita’s hand as they moved across the lawn toward us. She leaned into him slightly, as if her body was tuned to seek his closeness. They were a striking pair. Vita looked immaculate as always, and Gino, despite being in his sixties, was in great shape.

You could tell he adored his wife just by the way he looked at her.

Vita greeted me with a hug and a dazzling smile. “That dress becomes you.”

“Thank you.” I brushed my palm over the satin bodice. It was a little too tight—probably due to all the stress eating I’d indulged in last week.

Gino stepped forward once his wife had released me. “It’s about time we finally met, don’t you think?” he said warmly.

Rafe was supposed to be here to introduce us, but he’d stepped away to do something inside the house and still hadn’t come back out. At least Cleo was standing here with me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ferraro.”

He took the hand I offered and brought it to his lips. “Please, call me Gino. We’re about to become family.”

Family. The Ferraros and the Messeros. That was going to take some getting used to. Growing up, I lost count of how many angry rants I heard from my father about the man in front of me now.

“Would you like a drink?” Cleo asked, glancing around. “I don’t know where the waiters went. They were just here.”

“I wouldn’t mind a little stroll to the bar,” Vita said, offering Cleo her arm. “Would you two like to join us?”

“I’m okay,” I said. I’d already had two glasses of champagne, and I was a lightweight.

“Grab me an old fashioned, would you?” Gino asked his wife.

“Of course.” They walked off.

I smoothed out a wrinkle over my hip and fidgeted with my bracelet. I wasn’t sure what to say to the Ferraro don.

“You seem nervous,” Gino commented.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s your shoulders. They’re stiff. You don’t stay in my position for long without learning how to read body language.”

I forced myself to relax. “I suppose I’m allowed to be a little nervous around the in-laws.”

To my relief, he seemed to find that funny. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “That’s true. I remember how nervous I was when I met Vita’s mother. First time I ever saw the woman, I asked for her daughter’s hand. I showed up at her house with this huge bouquet of roses. Imagine my horror when she turned out to be allergic to them.”

I gasped. “And she still let you marry Vita?”

“I won her over eventually.” He smiled. “Turned out she loved marigolds. Those things have to be replanted every year. So for the rest of her life, I made sure she had marigolds planted just outside her front door. She said she loved seeing them appear each year as if by magic.”

“That’s a very sweet gesture.” And unexpected from the man my father had painted out to be the devil incarnate. Just from this short conversation, I was starting to realize that I needed to let go of whatever preconceived notions I had of Gino.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a rectangular object wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with a white ribbon. “Rafaele mentioned to me that you love art. This is a small engagement gift for you.”

Now I was really charmed. I took the package from him. “Can I open it now?”

“Of course.”

Curiosity fluttered inside me as I unwrapped the crinkly paper. It looked like a notebook. No, not a notebook—an old sketchbook. Pressed into the leather cover was the letter F. I opened it. Gino’s name was written neatly on the first page, followed by a range of dates. I turned the page. A pencil sketch of a boat sitting on a lake that reflected a grand villa filled the paper.

“Wow.” I looked up at him. “You drew this?”

“I’m no Van Gogh,” he said with a chuckle. “But I like to sketch on occasion. Some memories feel like they’re never going to fade, but over time, they just do. This was my way of holding on to the ones I didn’t want to lose. A lot of the drawings in here are of places from my childhood in Sicily. One day, I hope I’ll get to take my sons there on a trip. We’ve never found the right time to do it.”

His words made an ache bloom in my chest. Maybe because looking into Gino’s eyes, I could just tell he was the kind of father who genuinely loved his children.

I had never had a father like that.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and closed the sketchbook carefully. “I’ll treasure this. Thank you.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Let me have someone bring this up to my room. I don’t want to risk misplacing it.”

I flagged down a server and handed over the sketchbook. I couldn’t wait to look through it more carefully later.

The interaction with Gino had lifted my spirits regarding the marriage. It felt good that he approved of me. That he and Vita were excited to welcome me into the family.

“I know you’ll make a good match for Cosimo,” Gino said once the server walked off. “I can tell you have a gentle heart, and I think that’s exactly what my son needs. Even if he doesn’t yet realize it himself.”

I stayed quiet, listening. The more Gino wanted to share with me about Cosimo, the better. I hoped it would help me find some common ground with my future husband. I regretted not taking the opportunity to ask Vita a little more about him at our lunch.

“Cosimo is the eldest. He’s carried that heavy burden his whole life.” Gino’s expression turned thoughtful. “Vita and I have tried to prepare him, but sometimes, I wonder whether the lessons we taught him were the right ones.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“As the man who will one day become don, he has to keep his walls raised high. But Cosimo…” He paused. “I think he’s forgotten how to lower them for anyone.” A sad smile touched his mouth. “The older I get, the more I realize that in the end, the people close to us are all we have.” Something almost regretful passed over his face. “I don’t want him to wake up an old man and realize he missed the parts of life that matter most. I hope you can help him see that in time.”

“I hope so too,” I said, and I meant it. At lunch, Vita had all but told me not to expect anything from my marriage beyond duty, but Gino seemed to believe something real might grow inside it. From a couple that had been together for as long as they had, it was an interesting difference in opinion.

But I didn’t have long to dwell on it.

As I glanced toward the entrance to the backyard, I saw Cosimo had arrived.

CHAPTER 6

COSIMO

A breeze ruffled through my hair as I stepped into Messero’s backyard. Backyard seemed like an insufficient term to describe the space given its proportions. There was a terrace, a pool, a maze of hedges, and flowers bursting out of every corner. The work of his wife or just Messero overcompensating for something? I didn’t care enough to find out.

What I did care about was how quickly my gaze found Nettle—and how it seemed to get stuck there.

Beside me, Rom whistled. “Your fiancée looks angelic in white.”

My response was a dismissive grunt, the most I could manage without admitting he was right. She stood by my father just to the right of the pool and looked annoyingly perfect. Her sleeveless dress exposed swaths of smooth tan skin, her lips were painted a dark pink, and her hair fell around her shoulders in a mane of hypnotic waves.

My eyes moved lower despite myself—to the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the way the fabric clung to her thighs.

Fuck. Did she have to be so fucking pretty?

By now, I’d hoped Rosa would have found something useful. Instead, she was still in Geneva, still spending my money, still calling every few days to report she’d found fuck all. According to her, Fabiana had lived with her sister in downtown Geneva, had gone to hot yoga a few times a week after work, brought the doorman pastries on Fridays, and rarely went out on the weekend. It was all so wholesome and sweet it made my teeth ache.

Maybe there were no skeletons after all. Maybe Fabiana was just an innocent mafia princess whose years abroad hadn’t managed to undo the conditioning she’d grown up with—the kind that taught her marriage was her ultimate duty. If she’d never had to go up against anyone in my mother’s league, she’d be an easy target for manipulation. If that ended up being the truth, it was unfortunate she’d been swept up in all this, but that didn’t change my plan.

As I walked toward her, I watched Vita step in and hand Dad a drink. She said something to Fabiana that made her laugh. They were already rubbing elbows and looking way too fucking friendly.

“Cosimo, there you are,” Vita said as I came up. She placed her hand on my arm in a gesture of apparent affection, and I forced myself not to recoil. I couldn’t stand it when she touched me. “I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost on your way here.”

I pulled my arm away. “Our business interests don’t run themselves,” I drawled, giving her a bored look.

Her eyes narrowed.

She wanted me on my best behavior. It was shocking she hadn’t already confronted me about the total lack of interest I’d shown Fabiana over the last few weeks. After seeing how chummy the two of them looked together, I assumed my fiancée must have complained.

Dad patted my shoulder. “It’s my fault he’s late. He was working on a few things I asked of him this morning. All good, son?”

“Of course,” I said, even though it wasn’t. Our cocaine supplier, Alvarez, was becoming a fucking thorn in my side. He was refusing to sell us the quantity we wanted at the rates we’d agreed to last year because he said someone else in New York had offered him more. Who? For now, Alvarez refused to tell me.

But I’d get on top of it. My father was relying on me. I hadn’t worked my ass off to prove to him I deserved to be his underboss at the age of twenty-eight only to disappoint him now that I’d finally gotten the position.

My gaze moved back to my fiancée. “Fabiana.”

“Good to see you again, Cosimo.” She rose on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Her scent—lavender and lemons—muddled with my next inhale and made heat crawl beneath my skin. “It’s been a while,” she said low enough so only I would hear.

“Not long enough,” I muttered back.

When she pulled back, I saw her expression and almost felt bad. She covered the flash of hurt quickly with a smile and greeted my brothers, but the look on her face stayed with me.

Collateral damage. It was what it was. If she was as innocent as she appeared, I didn’t relish breaking her down, but I also wasn’t going to stop until she pulled out of this marriage.

“Working the morning of your engagement party,” Vita laughed. “Cosimo hasn’t always been this disciplined,” she said lightly. “When he was younger, he had a tendency to be led by his impulses. It’s been so gratifying to help him grow into a more mature version of himself.”

My jaw clenched. Yes, she’d done her very best to teach me how to stay in control. I still had the scars to prove it.

The photographer approached us. “The light is perfect right now. We need to take advantage of it. Are you two ready for the engagement photos?”

Fuck me. I’d forgotten we were supposed to do that today. The thought of being forced to have Nettle in my arms for some unspecified amount of time made me itch all over. She was a safer quantity to deal with at a distance.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with,” I said roughly. Fabiana turned pale. The photographer just nodded and gestured for us to follow him.

We walked in silence toward an arch at the edge of the property where the photographer drew to a stop. “Here we are, could you two step up onto the platform?”

Fabiana tripped on her way up. My hands shot out and clamped around her waist. The second I touched her, something strange jolted through me, like static electricity sparking across my palms.

The fuck?

Her gaze flew to mine, and for one disorienting second, I wondered if she’d felt it too.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My heel got caught in the grass.”

Our faces were only inches apart. Her skin was flawless, and her mouth was slightly parted. For one absurd moment, I had the urge to wrap her curls around my fist and find out if Nettle tasted as good as she looked.

Get a grip.

“Fabiana, put your hand on Cosimo’s chest so we can see the ring.”

“Is this okay?” She shot the photographer a nervous look.

“Great. Cosimo, pull her into you a bit more.”

I tugged her closer, moving her around with the efficiency of someone arranging furniture. But as the photographer fiddled with his camera and told us to hold still, she definitely didn’t feel like an inanimate object as she pressed against my side. She was soft and warm, and I was uncomfortably aware of every point where our bodies touched.

An irritating heat spread over the back of my neck.

“No, the lighting is hitting you all wrong,” the photographer said, frowning at the camera. “Can you turn a bit more eastward?”

I turned us. Fabiana was stiff as a board in my arms.

“Nope.” The photographer lowered the camera and looked at us the way a teacher might look at a group of badly behaving students. “Fabiana, you’re tense. The camera is picking up on it.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax,” she said in a shaky voice. Her temples shone with a thin layer of sweat.

I frowned at her. “What’s going on with you?”

Her throat bobbed on a swallow, and she lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Nothing.”

It didn’t look like nothing to me.

“It’s just some pictures,” I muttered. “What’s the big deal?”

“Let’s just try again,” she called out to the photographer, ignoring my question.

“Okay, look this way. Smile. No. Not like that. That’s a grimace, not a⁠—”

Fabiana pushed away from me.

“We really need to get these done if we want to catch the golden hour,” the photographer said, sounding annoyed.

I shot him a glare. I was getting really fucking tired of him acting like he was the boss here. “Take a hike. Come back in five minutes.”

“But the light⁠—”

“I don’t give a fuck about the light.”

He looked more than a little offended, but he was smart enough not to argue. I waited until he was out of earshot before I stalked over to my fiancée.

Her back was to me. She had one palm anchored against the column and another lifting the hair off her neck.

My gaze traced the delicate line of it. “What’s the issue?” I demanded.

Her shoulders rose. “I’m sorry⁠—”

“Stop apologizing and tell me what’s going on.”

Slowly, she turned to face me, and there was so much apprehension in her expression that my annoyance disappeared in a blink. Something protective rose inside of me.

“I hate having my picture taken, okay?” she said in a small voice.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just do. I look terrible in them.”

I was pretty sure that was impossible. She was aggravatingly beautiful. “I guarantee you’ll look just fine,” I ground out.

“These are going out to so many people.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t want to get anything wrong.”

“It’s not that serious.”

Indignation flashed inside her gaze. “It is to me.”

I dragged my tongue over my teeth. I suppose I understood it. For her, this marriage was a performance she had to nail or risk disappointing her brother. She’d taken it to heart.

That didn’t bode well for me. How the fuck was I supposed to get her to call this off?

“What exactly are you worried about?”

“You heard him. I look stiff.” She rolled her lips and leaned against the column. “And I don’t feel comfortable with you.”

My mood darkened. Of course she didn’t. But wasn’t that the whole point of how I’d been acting toward her? Had I done my job so well that she couldn’t even get through a fucking photoshoot with me? The realization made something that felt suspiciously like guilt trickle into my bloodstream.

I held her emerald gaze and came to the unfortunate conclusion that I’d been hoping to avoid—this girl was a pawn in my mother’s game, not an active player.

That made what I had to do to her cruel, rather than warranted.

I raked my fingers through my hair, conflicted now. “All right, look, we’ve got to get through this. What would help?”

Her tongue darted out, swiping over her top lip. “Maybe tell me a bit about yourself.”

Fine. I settled on something innocuous. “I have twenty-five tattoos on my body. I got all of them in just one year.”

Her eyes skimmed over me, curious. “Where?”

“Most are on my chest and back. Some on my arms.”

“That must’ve hurt.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the opposite column. “You got any?”

She shook her head. “In our family, women are forbidden from getting tattooed.”

I cocked a brow. “Messero gives a shit about that kind of thing?” I didn’t think he was all that old-school.

“He’s changing things, but slowly. There are many people in the family that hold our old traditions close to heart. My father was one of them.”

Her father was a cunt. We held a party when he died. It was a shame he croaked from fucking cancer instead of one of our bullets to the head. “What other antiquated traditions does your family follow?”

“Women aren’t allowed to work unless they’re given a special dispensation.”

I nodded. That was common. In our family, women were also expected to busy themselves with home life, but of course, my mother was the exception to the rule.

“Anything else?”

For some reason, her cheeks reddened. “You know, I feel better. Should we try again?”

The pivot was sudden. I didn’t mind learning more about her family, but I nodded and waved at the photographer to come back. The point wasn’t to chat. It was to get the pictures and move on.

As the photographer ambled back to us, she turned to me and asked, “Why were you so against this marriage?”

My spine went rod straight. “Who said I was against it?”

“Your mom. She said it took a while to get you on board.”

I still wasn’t on board with it. Not even close. And this was the perfect opportunity to go for the jugular and tell her she was the reason. She was clearly a bit insecure, and she’d take my rejection to heart.

But the words refused to slip off my tongue. I told myself it was because saying that out loud would certainly end this photoshoot, and not because I dreaded seeing that hurt again in her eyes. “I don’t like others making my choices for me.”

To my surprise, she made an amused huff. “And you think I do? You think I dreamt of marrying someone who seems to dislike me for no obvious reason?”

I didn’t dislike her. The sudden realization made me grit my teeth. She was far too open and wore her vulnerability on her sleeve, but there was bravery in that too.

But I wasn’t about to tell her that. I needed her to think I didn’t like her. Why the fuck did I have to keep reminding myself of that?

“You seem happy enough to play the role of the blushing bride,” I ground out.

“I’m just trying to approach this with an open mind. After this, we’re going to have to live together. Wouldn’t it be better if we got along?”

“My house is big enough. With luck, we’ll rarely cross paths.”

She frowned. “I have a hard time believing you want that given you were raised by two people with an exceptionally strong marriage.”

Oh, she had no idea. “Maybe you should complain to my mother then,” I bit out.

“I don’t think involving my future mother-in-law in my marriage before it’s even begun will help with anything. We’re both adults. I hope we can sort things out between us on our own.”

I glanced away to hide my surprise. Fabiana really hadn’t confided in her. Huh. She was showing more restraint than most people showed around Vita.

“Ready?” The photographer had returned.

“Yeah,” I said.

He peered at us through his viewfinder. “Could you move closer to each other?”

Fabiana crossed the stone platform and stopped in the center of it. I dragged my tongue over my teeth and joined her.

“Cosimo, wrap your arms around her. Fabi, turn slightly and lean your back against his chest,” the photographer instructed.

She shifted into place while I did my best to ignore the heat of her small body pressing against me.

The photographer circled us. “Let’s have you face each other. Cosimo, hold her close to you, please.”

I moved to place a hand against her lower back. At least that was my intention. But I wasn’t familiar with her body yet, and my palm landed too low, my pinky splaying over the curve of her ass.

She went still.

My hand jerked up. “My bad.”

A beat passed. “You could at least take me on a date before you grope me.”

It was a joke, but it triggered my defenses. I didn’t want her to think I was warming up to her. “You’ve obviously never been groped if you think that’s what that was,” I said roughly.

The shutter clicked. “Fabiana, tilt your head back, please,” the photographer said. “I want you looking right into each other’s eyes.”

She lifted her chin, and her emerald gaze shimmered with mild annoyance. “Of course not. I’m a good Italian girl. I’ve been saving myself for marriage.”

“Hold still!” the photographer called out.

He didn’t need to tell me to hold still.

My body had gone rigid, stunned by the sharp, unwanted jolt of arousal that pulsed low into my groin.

Mine.

The thought flashed hot and primitive through my head before sanity slammed back into place.

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe that?”

She scoffed again. “You were asking about my family’s traditions. That’s one of them.”

Christ. All those years away from home, and she hadn’t broken from that particular tradition?

Didn’t matter. Or at least, it shouldn’t. And yet my heart raced, my body burned, and an image of her splayed across my bed wearing white lingerie and looking at me with those innocent eyes refused to leave my mind.

“Fabiana, rest your cheek against his chest.”

A second later, she was right there. Her ear pressed against my racing heart. When her breath hitched, I knew she’d heard it.

Fuck.

I forced myself to take a slow, deliberate breath, fighting to get my body back under control.

“That’s perfect! We got it!”

We broke apart. The photographer was babbling about editing and sending out the files, but I tuned him out while I attempted to rein myself in.

A wife handpicked for me by my mother was bad. But a wife with a body that fit too well against mine and who managed to get under my skin with just a few words? That was even worse.

Without a word, I turned and made my way toward the bar in search of a stiff drink.

It was only after my phone buzzed and I read Rosa’s message that my agitation eased.

“I found something on her. Not so innocent after all. Call me when you can.”

CHAPTER 7

FABIANA

It was nine o’clock on a Thursday, and Potions & Co was packed. Located in a SoHo basement, it was a cozy speakeasy designed to mimic an old-school apothecary. My friends and I sat in a round booth tucked away just beside the bar. Against the backdrop of eighties hits and din of conversation, our bartender mixed our drinks.

Chuga-chuga. Chuga-chuga. Chuga-chuga. Clank.

The wiry man, Frank, cracked open the silver cocktail shaker with a satisfying pop. He poured the frothy alcoholic concoction into four delicate coupe glasses before bringing them around to us. “Here you go, ladies. The Devil’s Cauldron. Let me know if you like it.”

Mia took a sip first. “Mmm. Delicious.”

“Is that a hint of peach?” Nina asked, lifting the glass closer to her nose.

“House-made peach cordial,” Frank confirmed with a grin. “You’ve got a good palate.”

“I love it,” Zo said. She turned to me. “Fabi? What do you— Oh.”

I set my empty glass down on the Potions & Co branded coaster and nudged it toward the bartender. “Another one, please.”

I didn’t care about how it tasted. Only that it was strong.

The bartender whisked the glass away without a word, while my friends exchanged concerned looks.

“Want to talk about it?” Mia asked gently, fiddling with the collar of her silk blouse.

I shook my head. Recently, I’d done little else besides whine to my friends about Cosimo, and it hadn’t really helped. We’d all met at Valais Academy in Switzerland, and though we’d scattered after graduation, one by one, we’d all ended up in New York again. Mia was a fashion stylist, Nina ran her own chocolate company, and Zo worked as a white-hat hacker at a cybersecurity firm. With me now back in the city too, we were all together again. I just wished our reunion didn’t happen to coincide with the slow unraveling of my sanity.

Cosimo had kept his distance from me for the rest of the engagement party after that photoshoot. I thought we’d broken some ground when he’d tried to calm me down for the photos, but things had gone downhill right after, and we hadn’t exactly left things on a good note. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d found something wrong with me. The fact that I hadn’t heard from him since the party didn’t help.

Okay, maybe I did want to talk about it. “Cosimo appears to dislike me for just existing, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“Vita said it wasn’t personal, right?” Nina asked. She was related to the Ferraros—Vita was her mother’s sister—but neither Nina nor her parents were involved in the family business.

“I’m not sure I believe that anymore.” Cosimo’s insults at the engagement party had felt personal enough. I still cringed when I remembered blurting out that I was a virgin. The way he’d frozen when I said it… Why the hell had I told him that? I’d been so annoyed by the way his touch made my body burn even while he was being rude that it had just slipped out.

It had left me feeling vulnerable. Exposed. And faced with the prospect of marrying him, it suddenly seemed absurd that I’d clung to that ancient tradition for so long.

I’d fooled around before. I’d had chances to take things further in Geneva. But something had always stopped me. I didn’t want the first man I slept with to know me as Fabi Castellano. I wanted him to know the real me.

Well, here I was, Fabiana Messero once again, and my fiancé had no interest in knowing me at all.

“Even if Vita was telling the truth, does it matter?” I asked. “The end result is the same. He didn’t want to get married, and he’s determined to do the bare minimum required of him—show up at the altar and say I do.”

What would happen once he was my husband? What would my life look like with him?

Yes, I took duty seriously. But could I really commit to marrying a man who would treat me like a nuisance for the rest of my existence? I was starting to grow weary at the prospect.

The bartender dropped off my second cocktail. “Made you a double this time.”

I gave him a tired smile. “You’re the best, Frank.”

“Do you think it might be my fault?” Mia asked, stirring a toothpick in her glass.

The fresh cocktail slid smoothly down my throat. “How could it be your fault?”

“Cosimo knows you’re friends with me. Maybe this is some weird way of punishing you for that.”

I bit on the inside of my cheek as I pondered that theory. Mia’s dad was Carlos Morales—the man currently running for mayor. He’d promised the voters that if he was elected, he was going to put the family I was marrying into behind bars. Whether or not he would actually be able to do that was a whole other question, and until he successfully made it into office, it was a problem I wasn’t going to think about.

“I doubt it’s that, Mia. If our friendship was a concern, I’m sure I would’ve heard about it by now.” I took another sip.

“Ugh. This really sucks,” Nina muttered. “I can’t believe you had to leave your dream job for this, only for it to go so badly.”

“My dream job? Not really.” I looked down at my drink. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but my dream job would’ve been something else.”

“Like what?” Mia asked.

“Something in the arts. I loved helping Rafe with the art acquisitions,” I said. “But you know I also love making pottery. I don’t know… I suppose I’ve never let myself imagine what my dream job would be. What’s the point when I’ve always known what my life will eventually end up being?”

“I guess that makes sense,” Mia said. “So you don’t miss being at the UN?”

I swallowed. For a moment, I considered telling my friends what had really happened with my job, but what would be the point? They already pitied me enough.

“I haven’t really thought much about it, to be honest.” If there was one upside to everything with Cosimo, it was that he’d become such an immediate, all-consuming problem that I’d barely had time to think about everything that had happened in Geneva.

“Have you talked to Cosimo’s mom since the engagement party?” Mia asked. “You said she told you to ask if you ever need anything, right? Maybe she could give you some advice.”

“I’ve met with her and the wedding planner, but I haven’t asked her for any advice yet.” I’d considered it, but something had held me back. Maybe because I wasn’t even sure she’d see the problem. All she’d really said was that Cosimo had to cooperate. Well, he was cooperating. He got me the ring. He came to the party. He did the photos.

The problem was that I wanted to be more than a piece of furniture he kept in his house and largely ignored. And I had the sense Vita would see nothing wrong with that.

I also got the feeling that Cosimo didn’t exactly get along with Vita. He’d never said it outright, but I saw how he’d tensed when his mother touched him at the party. If they were currently at odds, getting Vita involved might only make things between Cosimo and me even worse.

Zo blew out a breath. “Okay, what if you just show up at his place and refuse to leave until he takes you on a proper date?”

“That’s called stalking,” Mia pointed out.

“It’s not stalking if you’re engaged,” Zo argued. “Call it…aggressive wedding planning.”

Nina snorted into her drink. “Please don’t take advice from someone whose solutions to most problems involve breaking numerous online privacy laws.”

“Hey, my methods get results,” Zo defended. “Remember when I helped you track down that Belgian chocolate distributor who ghosted you?”

“That was different. He owed me money. Cosimo just owes Fabi… I don’t know…basic human decency?”

“The bar is literally on the floor,” I said. “And somehow, he’s still not reaching it.”

Zo snorted.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen.

Speak of the devil…

It was a message from Cosimo.

Let’s meet for dinner tomorrow.

I stared at the message, stunned. “Oh my God, I think we manifested this.” I showed the screen to my friends.

Nina nodded. “This is progress.”

My fingers flew across the keyboard.

Okay. Where?

I didn’t care about playing it cool or seeming too eager. We were past that.

L’Orangerie. 7 p.m.

See you then.

I hit send on my reply, sank back into my seat, and let out a breath. When we met tomorrow, I needed a sign from him, no matter how small, that there was a chance this marriage wasn’t going to be an unmitigated disaster.

And if I didn’t get that sign? The thought of telling Rafe I was starting to have doubts about my ability to go through with the wedding made me want to throw up, but the longer I waited, the less Rafe would be able to do about it. The wedding was only four months away.

One more try.

That was all I was giving this engagement before I raised my concerns with Rafaele.

CHAPTER 8

COSIMO

L’Orangerie was a softly lit French bistro. Polished mirrors lined the walls, scattering the candlelight across white tablecloths and delicate silverware, and the air smelled faintly of butter and wine.

I got here a few minutes early to make sure they gave us the specific table I’d requested. It wasn’t merely a preference. It was a mandatory part of the plan. The table sat halfway inside the restaurant, and you had to walk past it to get to the restroom. Rosa would be able to swipe Fabiana’s purse and drop it back off without anyone noticing.

The waiter, a younger guy, gave me a curious look when I slipped him a hundred-dollar bill.

“When my guest arrives, you’re going to bring us a bottle of red, and then you’re going to spill some on her. Make it look accidental.”

His eyebrows lifted. I gave him the look that usually got me what I wanted, and he pocketed the bill and walked away.

I dialed Rosa, keeping my eye on the entrance. “She’ll be here any moment. Is your guy ready?”

“Yes. All I have to do is connect the device he gave me to Fabiana’s phone for a few minutes. He’ll pull everything. Messages, emails, call logs. The lot.”

“Good.”

“For the record, I think this is next-level psycho.”

“Think whatever you want. I’m not leaving any stone unturned.” I hung up.

I had to give it to Nettle. She’d almost had me fooled.

She played the role of an innocent mafia princess to a tee. The virgin comment had been a nice touch on the con.

But after Rosa’s discovery in Geneva, I was convinced it was a lie.

Fabiana had been fired from her UN job for accepting bribes. Bribes.

She’d lied to me when I’d asked her why she’d come home early. She was dirty, and a far better actress than I’d given her credit for. I was almost sure now that she and my mother had something worked out between them.

Once Rosa got into Fabiana’s phone, I’d have everything—messages, emails, any correspondence she’d had with Vita since the day they’d met. That would be enough to piece together exactly what they’d been planning.

I was going to make sure that by the time she walked out of this restaurant, she was seriously questioning whether whatever my mother had offered her was worth being married to me.

The restaurant door opened, and a flash of curly hair caught my eye. Fabiana stepped inside, a camel wool coat draped over her shoulders, a black leather purse tucked under one arm.

The host greeted her and took her coat.

Underneath, she wore a black dress that hugged her every damn curve.

I reached for my water. I’d wanted to get this meeting over with sooner, but right after the engagement party, I’d flown back to Colombia. I’d negotiated with Alvarez and slept with one eye open at his compound outside Medellin. He still wouldn’t tell us who we were up against, and I was doing everything I could to keep the Alvarez deal from slipping through our fingers.

You’d think the stress of that would’ve been enough to keep my mind off Fabiana, but instead, I’d found myself scrolling through her Instagram photos late at night when I should have been sleeping.

At first, I told myself it was reconnaissance—know thy enemy. But somewhere between the photos of her laughing with friends and the shots of her at some UN gala looking devastatingly elegant in a midnight-blue gown, it had become something else.

Something fucking frustrating I didn’t want to name.

She hadn’t posted any of our engagement photos. Maybe it was a sign she was starting to question her commitment to this marriage.

I wanted her to call this damned engagement off. I needed her to. And yet each time I checked her feed—and I checked it more often than I cared to admit—the absence of those photos sent an inexplicable spike of irritation through my chest.

I knew what she really was now, and yet some primitive, illogical part of me was still drawn to her.

That needed to end. Today.

“Cosimo.” Her tone was carefully neutral, like she wasn’t sure what she was about to encounter.

“Fabiana.”

“How have you been?” She sat down and hung her purse off the back of the chair.

“Busy.”

A flicker of frustration crossed her face before she smoothed it away. “I gathered as much. Your mom mentioned you’ve been traveling a lot to Colombia. How was⁠—”

“She shouldn’t have said that.”

Fabiana blinked. “Why not?”

It was time to press on a button I knew would get her riled up. “It’s not something I want getting back to our enemies, one of which you appear to be best friends with.”

Fabiana’s boarding school connection to Mia Morales had been discovered by Romolo right after the engagement party. Ever since, he’d been working on getting close to Mia to see if we could use her to get something on her father. But so far, he’d made no progress.

The color drained from her face. “Mia is not your enemy. If my friendship with her makes you uncomfortable, I can promise you she’d never betray my confidence.”

The waiter came by to drop off some bread. “I’ll be right back with that wine you ordered.”

“Your friendship is over as soon as we’re wed.” I grabbed a piece of bread from the basket and tore it in half. “I’m surprised Rafaele hasn’t put an end to it already. He’s too lenient with you.”

“What do you mean our friendship is over?”

I spread butter across the bread with slow strokes. “Do I need to spell it out? It’s quite simple. You won’t be allowed to see her.”

“That’s ridicul⁠—”

“I should probably tell you now that the guards you’ll have assigned to you at all times will maintain tight control over your movements. You won’t go anywhere I don’t want you to, Fabiana.”

Her hands curled into fists on the tablecloth.

I cocked a brow. “You thought there wouldn’t be rules?”

The waiter returned with the wine. “May I, miss?”

“Please.” Fabiana shoved her glass toward him with a sharp jerk of her hand.

He stepped closer. One moment he was pouring the wine, and the next, the glass was tipping over right into Fabiana’s lap. She was so busy glowering at me that she hadn’t even noticed he’d bumped it with his hand.

“Oh my God.” The waiter clutched the bottle to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Fabiana was already on her feet, dabbing at her dress with a napkin. “It’s okay.”

“I feel awful. Your dress is all stained,” the waiter said, shooting me a dirty look.

“Show her where the bathroom is.”

“Of course. It’s just over there. Let me take you.”

A few seconds after they were gone, Rosa walked past and silently swiped Fabiana’s purse off the back of her chair.

I rolled my shoulders. So far, everything was going exactly to plan.

But not ten seconds later, Rosa was back. “It’s not in here,” she whispered, setting the purse back on the chair and kneeling beside me as if fixing her shoe.

“What?”

“Her phone. Must be on her. Didn’t you see her take it out?”

Fuck. “No. She must’ve had it in her hand or in a pocket.”

“I can try and get it off her in the bathroom.”

“Go.”

Rosa straightened and headed back the way she’d come.

My foot tapped against the floor. The noise of the restaurant pressed in—cutlery, laughter, the low hum of a couple arguing two tables over—but all of it felt muted beneath the hammering inside my chest. I needed this to work. I needed to prove to myself that the woman who’d caught me off guard, who’d somehow made my shriveled heart race, was a fake.

My phone buzzed against my thigh.

Got it. Running analysis now.

I exhaled. Some of the tension bled out of my shoulders. I started a two-minute timer and set the phone face down on the table. That’s all Rosa’s tech guy needed.

The timer went off long before Fabiana slid back into her seat.

The same waiter reappeared. “How’s the dress, miss?”

“Fine. Thank you. I’m sure it’ll wash right out when I get home.”

My phone vibrated. I checked it under the table.

Nothing.

How much longer to analyze all of it?

It’s done. There’s nothing interesting here, Cosimo. Just her complaining to her friends about how much of an asshole you’ve been. Vita has messaged her a few times asking how she’s doing and about some wedding details, but Fabiana hasn’t mentioned you to her at all. There’s nothing here.

My stomach sank.

No. I didn’t believe it. Whatever deal they had, they must’ve discussed it in person, off the record. That was possible.

It also meant I had no way of finding out what the hell they’d agreed to, not unless Fabiana confessed it to me.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze back to her. She waited for the waiter to refill her glass and then leaned toward me. “Look, Cosimo, I understand why you’re worried about Mia. I really do. I can’t imagine how stressed you and your family must be about the upcoming election given the threats Mia’s dad has lobbed your way. But Mia is one of my closest, oldest friends, and we have never talked about my family’s business. There has to be some compromise we can agree on.”

“I wonder why you think this is a discussion.”

She straightened. “Rafaele has never asked me to⁠—”

“I don’t give a shit about what Rafaele has or hasn’t asked you. Once we’re married, you won’t answer to your brother anymore. You will answer to me, and to me only. Whatever rules I give you, reasonable or not, you’ll have to obey them.”

I waited for her to fold. At this point, most men who reported to me would’ve. Instead, she gave her head a small shake and skewered me with a frustrated look.

“Why are you like this? You’ve been treating me like I’m your enemy from day one, and I just don’t get it. Have I offended you somehow? If so, just tell me. I can promise you that I haven’t done anything on purpose.”

I stared into her eyes, those fucking pools of false earnestness, and my patience snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

“Enough,” I snarled. “Drop the fucking act, Fabiana. I’m tired of you pretending you’re so fucking innocent and self-sacrificial. I know you got fired from the UN for accepting bribes.”

The color drained from her face. Not slowly, but all at once, like someone had pulled a plug. “How do you know about that?”

“I just do.”

She swallowed. “It’s not what you think.”

A surge of grim satisfaction pulsed through me. I had her. “You mean you didn’t get fired?”

“I did, but⁠—”

“Oh, so you didn’t accept bribes?”

“Will you just⁠—”

“Cut the bullshit, Fabiana. You lied to me when I asked you why you came back here ear⁠—”

“I was set up!” The words burst out of her loud enough that the couple at the nearest table turned to look.

One glare from me, and they went back to minding their own business. “What do you mean you were set up?” I demanded.

“I was set up by my old boss, all right?”

I paused.

She held my gaze, her lips pursed, and her eyes glistened. “He was my mentor. We got along. I thought it was just a professional relationship, but…”

Inside me, something clenched. Where the fuck was this going?

“About three months ago, he asked me out. He was…insistent, but I refused. I wasn’t interested. Even if I did like him that way, I was already engaged.” She rolled her lips and looked down at her hands, at the ring sparkling on one of them.

I shifted in my seat. “Insistent how?”

She trailed her finger over the edge of the table. “He invited me into his office one evening after everyone had left. He tried to kiss me. I stopped it, but it was an uncomfortable situation.”

My fists tightened in my lap, and a vein in my temple ticked.

“The next day, he acted like it was fine,” she went on. “I thought he took the rejection in stride, and that we were back to normal. A few weeks later, a wine supplier we sometimes ordered from invited me and one of my coworkers on a weekend trip to their winery. It sounded harmless, but I didn’t want to assume. I asked my boss if it was okay to accept the invitation.” Her laugh was brief and humorless. “He told me it was no problem. So my coworker, Mona, and I went.”

I stayed silent even though I already suspected how this story would end.

“The day after we got back, we were called into a meeting with the ethics office. Someone had reported the trip as an improper gift. When I said my boss had approved it, they asked him. He denied everything. And because I had nothing in writing, it was my word against his.”

Jesus. I sat back in my chair and dragged my palm down my face.

“They fired both of us,” she said weakly. “Me and Mona. She got dragged into it because of me.”

“Because of him.” Inside me, a storm was brewing. “He retaliated because you turned him down.”

Her face twisted. “Yes. But I should have gotten permission in writing. I should have protected myself instead of just trusting him blindly.” She swallowed hard. “That mistake cost someone else their career.”

She looked down at her plate, oblivious to the violent fantasies playing out inside my head right now featuring that son of a bitch.

Some logical part of me knew that I should cross-examine her. It also knew that feeling this strongly about a guy who tried to kiss my fiancée before I’d even met her was absurd. But that logical part of me wasn’t in the fucking driver’s seat right now. In fact, it felt like nothing was, except for this furious need to make that fucker pay for what he’d done.

Fabiana was still talking. “I’ve been paying Mona’s bills while she looks for work, but she hasn’t been able to find anything, and I just feel⁠—”

“You’ve been paying her bills?” I cut in.

She shrugged. “I mean, it’s the least I can do. The whole situation was my fault.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Mona, unlike me, doesn’t have an older brother she can rely on if things go off track. And she certainly doesn’t have a trust fund she can access like I’ll have once we’re married. So yes, I’ve been paying her bills.”

Before I could even begin to wrap my head around that, Rosa emerged from the bathroom. She stopped by our table, which she definitely wasn’t supposed to do, and held Fabiana’s phone out to her.

“Thanks, hon. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it.” Fabiana mustered up a smile.

Rosa’s accusing eyes met mine for half a second before she turned and walked toward the door.

I stared at the phone in Fabiana’s hand, convinced I was hallucinating. “What was that?”

“She needed to borrow my phone. Hers died, and she needed to call her babysitter.” She slid the phone into her purse.

“You’ve been sitting here for at least ten minutes already,” I ground out. “You let a stranger have your phone for that long?”

She frowned at me. “So what?”

“Are you serious?”

“I told her to give it back to me when she was done. It’s not like we’re in a rush. What’s she going to do, walk away with it?”

My mouth opened and closed. She was appalling. “Yes, that’s exactly what she could’ve done.”

“Well, she didn’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sometimes it pays to have a little faith in people instead of thinking they’re all bad.”

I sat perfectly still. The noise of the restaurant receded into a low hum beneath the blood pounding in my ears.

This girl. This fucking girl.

There was no deal with my mother. No con.

She was just as naive and innocent and fucking good as she appeared to be.

My God, my mother would strip her for parts without breaking a sweat. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The worst of it was me.

What the fuck had I just been thinking? I’d almost been overwhelmed with an urge to kill the man who’d made her look sad. To protect her. To avenge her.

It was irrational. It wasn’t smart. And I could say with absolute confidence that in all my twenty-eight years of life, I had never felt anything like that because of a woman.

I really didn’t want to start now. Not with her.

I had to give it to Mother. Whether or not she’d meant to do it, she had somehow picked the exact right woman to force into my life. Someone who made me a little fucking crazy. Someone who pried at my grip on myself just enough to make me want to let go.

The thought of abandoning myself in her was tempting.

So goddamn tempting that I had to clench my teeth and shove it down as far as it would go.

A man like me didn’t get to lose himself in a woman like her and stay sharp.

If I let her get any closer, I was going to become a dull knife.

Useless to everyone.

Dangerous to no one but myself. And her.

“I don’t.” My voice came out rougher and angrier than I intended.

Her eyes ricocheted to mine. “What?”

“I don’t have faith in you.” The words tasted like poison as I forced them past my lips, which only reinforced that I needed to get through this. “That woman was a test. You failed.”

A crease formed between her brows. “A test?”

“She works for me. She was supposed to steal your phone, and you just handed it to her.”

The crease deepened. “Why would you do that?”

“After I found out you lied to me about your reason for leaving your job, I wanted to be sure you weren’t lying to me about anything else.”

Indignation flashed in her gaze. “I’m not.”

“Actually, you were.” I leaned forward, bringing myself within only a few inches of her. “You were hiding the full extent of your naivete.”

I paused, letting the words land, waiting to see their effect begin to take shape in her emerald gaze.

“It’s a fucking liability. I’m going to be don one day. Do you think a don’s wife can afford to be this gullible?”

She flinched as if I’d hit her.

“Cosimo—”

“No. Answer my question. Do you think a don’s wife can afford to be this gullible?”

Her bottom lip wavered.

The light behind her eyes—that stubborn, infuriating light I’d never managed to affect with my cruel barbs before—flickered.

Then dimmed.

There it was.

I was close. So close. I just needed to keep going.

And so I did, despite the guilt twisting through my gut, despite the shame wrapping its cold hands around my throat.

“It’s not too late to admit it to yourself, Fabiana. You can’t do this. You aren’t made for this world. Tell your brother that and ask him to call off the wedding.”

Her lips parted on a harsh inhale.

“Your brother and my father made the wrong choice. Help me save them from the consequences of that poor decision.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She swept it away before it reached her jaw, but I saw it. And I’d remember it.

“Cosimo, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” I ground out. I was only half aware of the fact that I was being way too fucking upfront with her, that at some point I’d abandoned my plan to do this subtly. But I was too far gone now. I just needed this to end.

“It’s not a question of whether or not you’ll disappoint your brother, Fabiana. It’s only a question of when. If you marry me, you’re going to make a mistake somewhere along the way, just the way you did at work. Just the way you did now. You’ll trust the wrong person. You won’t think about the consequences. Only by that time, it won’t be just your coworker’s job at stake. It’ll be people’s lives.”

Her shoulders shook. I’d taken a knife, slid it into her, and twisted it.

For a moment, there was only silence between us. It hung like some dead, ugly thing amid the cheerful chatter and buzz around us.

Slowly, so very slowly, her gaze lifted to mine. “You’re an asshole.” She grabbed the napkin from her lap, dabbed angrily beneath her eyes, tossed it back down on the table, and stood, slinging her purse over her arm. “I’m done. You’re completely right. I can’t marry you. I’d be insane to tie myself to someone as distrustful, cynical, and mean as you.”

Her lips pursed, and she looked down at me like I was a goddamn cockroach.

“Rafe and Cleo left for a vacation this morning. I will not ruin their trip for your sake. But I will talk to my brother once they return. I will beg Rafe to let me out of this if I have to.”

I sat back and cracked my neck. “Good.”

Her eyes blazed with fire. “Say a prayer for me, would you?”

I waited for the rush of triumph to hit me, but there was no satisfaction at having gotten what I wanted.

Only a nauseating, hollow pit in my stomach as I watched her turn and walk out the door.

CHAPTER 9

FABIANA

The antique clock in Rafe’s office ticked off the seconds as I waited for him and Cleo to return from their trip. Yeti was asleep in my lap, the warmth of his small body a comfort I desperately needed.

They’d been gone nearly a week. I’d spent that time rehearsing what I’d say to Rafe. I’d gone over it in my head so many times that it had started to feel less like preparation and more like self-inflicted torture.

And still, none of the versions I’d come up with felt right. Maybe because there was no good way to say that I wanted to back out of marrying Cosimo.

It was going to be a difficult conversation. I knew that. Rafe was counting on me, and I’d given him no indication that he had anything to worry about.

But that was before the restaurant.

The memory of my last conversation with Cosimo still filled me with equal parts hurt and indignation. The ache of it hadn’t faded. Cosimo had been at his worst—aggravating, authoritarian, utterly impossible. I still had no clue how he’d discovered what had happened in Geneva, but at this point, it hardly mattered. He’d exposed my secret, forced me into giving him an explanation, and then found the specific nerve beneath it and pressed. Hard.

In some ways, he was right. I had been naive to trust my former boss, Girarde. But as embarrassed as I was about what had happened, I refused to let that one experience turn me into someone who stopped trusting people altogether.

If that made me unsuitable to be his wife, then so be it.

The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that me calling off the wedding was what he’d wanted all along. He couldn’t call it off himself—his parents were determined, and he had his own duty to perform. But if I did it for him, the problem resolved itself. He’d pressed on every button until I decided to walk away.

He was gambling on the possibility my brother would let me out of the obligation.

I had no idea if he would. If my father were still don, I wouldn’t have even bothered. Telling him I didn’t want to marry someone who clearly didn’t respect me even a little would have been laughable. He would have seen it as a child throwing a tantrum over something she didn’t understand.

But Rafe was different. With Rafe, there was a chance he’d listen.

He wouldn’t be at peace with condemning me to a life of misery. I could hold out for a month. Maybe even a year. But facades didn’t hold forever, and when mine eventually came down, he’d be able to tell, and he’d blame himself.

Yes, I had a far better chance of convincing Rafe to release me from this than Cosimo had of convincing his family. I was going to take that chance. Whatever the political fallout would be, that was Cosimo’s problem to manage. I doubted a man this calculated would let a broken engagement undo everything his family had built with mine.

I heard a car pull up outside.

I put Yeti on the floor, smoothed my palms over the front of my dress, and took a breath. My eyes drifted to the shelf across the room, to the photograph sitting between two stacks of books. It was of Elena, Rafe, and me all smiling here last Christmas.

A few months before that picture was taken, Rafe had sat Elena and me down and told us what he’d survived at our father’s hands. He’d been brutalized by him for years, and he’d hidden it all so completely that Elena and I had always assumed he and our father were mirror images of each other, men cut from the same cloth. We hadn’t understood until that conversation how much he’d endured to protect us, to keep Dad’s attention fixed on him instead of us.

A vise tightened around my lungs. And now I was about to tell him I didn’t think I could go through with the most important thing he’d ever asked of me.

I was going to disappoint my brother. I resented having to do it, but I resented Cosimo even more.

I crossed the room and opened the double doors so I could catch Rafe the second he walked in. This couldn’t wait another day.

Cleo appeared in the entryway, drowning in an oversized hoodie. Rafe stepped in after her, wearing a black peacoat over a charcoal sweater, his shoulders squared like always.

Something was wrong. Both of their faces were pale, and Rafe’s was drawn with exhaustion that went beyond jet lag.

I hurried toward them. “Are you okay?”

Cleo hugged me and then stepped away, a strange expression on her face. “I’ll let you two talk.”

Rafe’s gaze landed on me as Cleo walked upstairs.

I stopped in front of him. “What’s going on?”

“There was an explosion. Tonight. At the Ferraros’ penthouse.”

For a second, the words meant nothing. I just stared at him, waiting for them to rearrange themselves into something that made sense. “An explosion?”

“A bomb. During a family gathering.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath me. Cosimo. Was he— “Oh my God.”

Rafe grabbed my shoulders to steady me. “Cosimo’s alive. So are his brothers and Vita.” His jaw clenched. “But Gino… Gino didn’t make it.”

I pressed my palm to my lips. I couldn’t believe it. It seemed like I’d just spoken to him at the engagement party. He was gone?

Rafe guided me toward the sofa and sat us down.

“Who did this?” I asked.

“We don’t know yet.” His expression hardened. “But whoever did just declared war on the Ferraros, and therefore on us.”

A war. The thought opened a cold and bottomless pit inside me. “Are we in danger?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Elena, or Cleo. Neither will Cosimo. He’s in charge now.”

In charge.

Cosimo was don.

Rafe checked his watch and stood. “I need to shower and head back out. Nero’s gathering the capos. We have a lot to coordinate with the Ferraros.” He paused, studying my face. “Your text said you wanted to talk?”

My hands curled over the edge of the sofa. It was hard to think. Hard to process the implications. And yet I had to.

With Gino dead, I had to assume Cosimo had full control over the family.

He didn’t want this marriage. He’d been forced into it.

Now there was no one to force him. He could call it off himself.

Which meant I didn’t have to say anything at all. I didn’t have to disappoint my brother.

Slowly, I shook my head. “It’s not important.”

He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Get some rest, Fabi. The next few weeks are going to be brutal.”

A dead don, a war on our hands, and an engagement that was about to be no more…

Brutal seemed almost too kind a word to describe it.

CHAPTER 10

COSIMO

The dim light from the lamp on my desk was the only thing cutting through the darkness of my office. My head throbbed. The kind of pain that settled behind the eyes and refused to let go.

Dad was supposed to retire deep into his sixties. He was supposed to hand me the reins over a glass of bourbon in his office and promise he’d be a phone call away. Something like this was never part of the plan.

I hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time since the explosion. My memories of what’d happened were loose fragments kicking around my skull, refusing to order themselves in any way that made sense.

The pop of a champagne bottle. Dad placing the bonsai tree on the windowsill. Alessio’s blood covering my shaking hands.

I looked down. They still shook.

I clenched my fists to stop it.

Enough. Someday I’d have time to piece the memories together, but not now.

There wasn’t any time to grieve. I had to find my father’s killers. To reestablish order. To ensure the Ferraros would survive this the way we’d survived all the other threats we’d faced.

The door to my office opened, and Alessio walked in. His face was all bruised, and his arm was in a sling. He’d been closer to the bomb hidden in the bonsai tree than Romolo and I when it’d gone off. For a few terrifying moments, I thought we’d lost him.

“Anything?” I asked.

He took a seat across from me. “There was nothing in Lisa’s downtown condo. The concierge said she and Uncle Mario haven’t been there in weeks. She hasn’t used her credit cards, and her phone is off.”

The bonsai tree was brought in by Aunt Lisa. Rom and I had already gone over to her place in Hoboken and found it cleared out. That meant my aunt had known exactly what she was bringing in.

But the device was too sophisticated for them to have put together. Someone had to have been pulling their strings. The question was who?

Santoro. That was the name Alvarez had given me just before I left Colombia after finally closing our deal. That was the name of the other family that had been negotiating with him. They’d tried to make him walk away from us by offering the kind of terms no sane person would.

In the end, I’d convinced Alvarez the Santoros were an unknown quantity and not worth the risk.

Mere hours later, my father was dead.

Coincidence? I didn’t fucking think so.

“Let’s run down every single person who visited their house in the past three months. Speak to cleaners, gardeners, pool boys, everyone. I want to know if they saw anything.”

Alessio nodded and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. “Why would Aunt Lisa do this?”

“I don’t know. The chief accountant of their packaging business said they were one payroll away from bankruptcy. They were having problems.”

“Yeah. Dad knew about it. He asked Mom to look into it at some point.”

I clicked my pen. “The timing makes me think these fucking Santoros are involved. They must have some kind of vendetta against us. Let’s put out some feelers. See if they’ve popped up anywhere else in the state.”

“You couldn’t get anything more from Alvarez about them?”

I shook my head. “He told me he only met with two guys who were representing them. I already ran their names through the system and got nothing.”

“Dad knew who that family was,” Alessio said. “He was about to tell us about them just before the bomb went off. Something must have happened between the families a long time ago.”

“Yeah. But what?” Too many unknowns. Too many fucking variables.

I rubbed my temples, trying to massage my headache away. A don couldn’t afford unknowns. Hell, a new don could afford them even less. The capos were sitting in my living room waiting for me to issue orders. But without more information, vengeance had to wait.

My phone screen flashed with our family lawyer’s name.

I picked up. “Richard.” I’d been waiting for his call. I wouldn’t officially be named don until the swearing-in ceremony, which would be scheduled sixty days after Dad’s death—one day for each year he lived. To ensure proper governance during the transition period, an interim don had to be appointed. But given that I was Dad’s named successor, the interim title would fall to me. I was already running the illicit parts of our business. Richard just had to appoint me as the CEO of Ferraro Holdings, the legal entity that represented just under half of our total business.

“I’ve just gotten access to the will. Unfortunately, there’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

Alessio gave me a questioning look, and I put the call on speaker.

“There’s a page missing,” Richard said. “The last page, the one that clarifies the line of succession. The page that would allow me to make you the don in the interim.”

My blood ran cold. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. It’s just gone. Maybe your father took it out himself and wasn’t able to replace it before he was… Well, before the bomb. I can see here in the logs that he was here a few times in the last month.”

My hand tightened around the phone. “Is there anyone else in the visitor logs?”

“Me. And your mother was here yesterday.”

What. The. Fuck.

I swallowed down my urge to scream into the phone. Of course. Of fucking course. My father hadn’t even been buried, and Vita was already looking for some way to use the situation to her advantage. Just when I thought I knew how low she could stoop, she somehow stooped even lower. Only yesterday, Rom had told me about how she’d whored him out when he was only eighteen in order to get kompromat on a police chief’s wife. We were supposed to protect the family, not exploit our own blood. But Mother didn’t care. There were no lines she wouldn’t cross in her pursuit of power.

“So what does all of this mean?” I ground out.

“It means your father left no enforceable proof of succession,” Richard said. “So for now, you stay underboss and retain control of the criminal side by default. But Ferraro Holdings is another matter. Your mother is chairwoman of the board, and the board voted to make her CEO this morning.”

Alessio’s eyes widened.

“What?” I snapped. “How am I only hearing about this now?”

“You haven’t been involved with Ferraro Holdings. I only learned about it after the fact.”

“Then call for another vote.”

“You don’t have the authority to do that yet. If you inherit control, you’ll be able to undo it. But until then, your hands are tied.”

So the family was carved up into two halves. For the next sixty days, one would be run by my mother, and one run by me.

“What about after the mourning period ends?”

“Well, that depends on what happens at the swearing-in ceremony,” Richard said. “Without that final page, the question of who’s don will fall to a vote. It will be up to the capos.”

“This is bullshit, and we both know it. She can’t⁠—”

The door to my office opened.

I looked up just in time to see my mother walk in.

CHAPTER 11

COSIMO

Vita was the perfect picture of a mourning wife. Black dress, hair pulled back, face free of her normal makeup.

Anger tightened around my throat at the sight of her.

“I’ll call you back,” I said to Richard and hung up. “How did you get into my house?”

“One of the capos let me in.” She sat down on the sofa. “We should talk, Cosimo.” Her gaze drifted to Alessio. “Alone.”

“Alessio stays.” That had been one of her tactics when we were children—distancing my brothers and me so that we could never unite against her. But it wasn’t going to work now. “Richard just called. Congratulations. Enjoy your brief stint as CEO of Ferraro Holdings, because as soon as I’m voted in as don, you won’t have a position in the company at all.”

Her lips tightened. “You’re upset. We can discuss it.”

My fists clenched. I wanted to wring her goddamn neck. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m the eldest son. I was raised to be Dad’s successor.”

The door opened again.

“Romolo,” I snapped, “you missed quite a show. Mom arrived here just as I got a call from our lawyer. Turns out there’s a page missing from Dad’s will.” I moved to stand in front of her. “She was about to explain how that happened.”

Her lips pursed, as if I was the one out of line. “I don’t know what happened,” she said.

“Don’t know? The safe where the will was kept only has three keys—one with Father, one with the lawyer, and one with you. There’s a record of you accessing the safe yesterday. You didn’t even bother to hide your tracks.” Probably because she hadn’t had time to figure out how. She’d had to get to the safe before the lawyer.

Mother held my stare. “I was there to get jewelry for the funeral. I didn’t touch the will.”

I scoffed. “The missing page specifies who gets control of the family. What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything. But without that page, succession has to be a discussion.”

“That’s insane,” Alessio cut in. “Everyone knows Dad intended Cosimo to be the next don. The capos are ready to follow him.”

“People like to assume things. It’s how they make sense of an unpredictable world. But I knew your father better than anyone. He had his doubts.” She stared right at me unblinkingly.

Unease flared inside my rib cage. Just because she says it, doesn’t mean it’s true.

I was named underboss over a year ago. Put in charge of more than half the business. Drugs, weapons, gambling—all of it was mine. I was his eldest son. He’d never given me reason to think the empire would pass to anyone else.

Was it possible he’d changed his mind?

A smirk slowly spread over Vita’s face. “He was particularly disappointed with Cosimo’s immaturity regarding his upcoming marriage. A person ready to lead this family wouldn’t have behaved like Cosimo did.”

The room dimmed around me. The clock on the wall seemed louder.

Tick, tick, tick.

Romolo was saying something to her, but I didn’t hear him.

The puzzle pieces had finally clicked.

All these months, I’d tried to figure out Mother’s angle with Fabiana, and it had been right in front of me all along.

This was it. My resistance.

She’d known I’d fight any woman she chose for me. She’d known exactly how that would look to my father, to the capos, to anyone watching.

She’d set me up, and I’d walked straight into it.

And now…

Christ.

In the midst of all the chaos—the hours we’d spent at the precinct after the bomb, the race to find our aunt before she disappeared for good, the calls with all the capos to give them their orders—I hadn’t had time to process the implications of Dad’s death on the marriage arrangement.

But one thing was clear—everything had changed.

I brought myself back to the room, forcing myself to listen.

“My loyalty’s with Cosimo,” Rom was saying. “The fucking leader of this family. And if you’re trying to undermine him, then you’re not family anymore.”

“Cosimo doesn’t have what it takes.” Her eyes flashed. “But I do.”

There it was. Out in the open now. She wanted to steal my fucking birthright.

“You might not like it, but me at the helm is what’s best for the family.”

I let out a disbelieving breath. “What’s best for the family? It’s what’s best for you.”

It was one thing to have her in my father’s ear. It was another to let her rule without anyone there to rein her in. She’d surround herself with yes-men and let her ego run everything. For Mother, it was always about image—about how she was perceived, about how powerful she appeared.

Under no circumstance could this woman be allowed to lead. Eventually, she’d destroy everything my father had built.

She shook her head. “None of you have any idea what you’re up against. You’ve tried to figure out why the Santoro family is targeting us, and you’ve found nothing. That history’s been erased. I’m the only one who knows the full story.”

I walked around my desk and sat down. Fury coursed through me, but I kept it contained. “Let me guess, you’re not going to tell us what you know.”

“In the wrong hands, the information could only hurt the Ferraros.”

“Then we’ll figure it out without your help.”

“You won’t.” She sounded utterly certain. “The Santoro family killed Gino, and this is only the beginning. I know them. I know I can lead us past this threat. But without me, you’ve already lost.”

I didn’t know where she was getting that information, or whether it was even true they were responsible for killing my father.

I exchanged a look with my brothers. We were all thinking the same thing.

“We’ll take our chances, Mother,” I said. “Get out. I don’t want to see you again.”

A long second passed. “You’re making a big mistake.” She grabbed her purse from the coffee table and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

“Fucking finally,” Rom muttered. “I came to tell you that Morales is keeping Mia locked up in his apartment. I’m taking a few guys and getting her out.”

I nodded, knowing Rom was worried about that girl. He’d confessed a few days ago that he’d been seeing her in secret. “Take whoever you need.”

I watched him leave, my mind already turning over possibilities, strategies, moves, and countermoves.

Alessio blew out a heavy breath. “She will challenge you at the ceremony. Until then, she’ll do her worst with the capos. Point out every mistake you make. Use every weapon she has.”

“Do you think there’s a chance she’ll win the vote?”

Alessio looked thoughtful for a moment. “It would go against tradition having a woman at the helm.”

“But?”

“But Father trusted her.”

“She cares more about securing her power than finding out who killed him.” I shook my head. “The capos know me. They’ll vote for me.”

“This vote won’t be about who’s more competent,” Alessio said. “It’ll be about who looks steadier. More disciplined. More willing to do what the family requires during a turbulent time.” He leaned back in his chair. “You heard her just now. She gave away her strategy. She’ll keep emphasizing that you’re good, but you’re just not ready. And that’s a risk the family can’t take when we’re under attack.”

I clenched my jaw. “If I find Dad’s killers, that will be enough to sway the vote my way.”

“True,” Alessio said. “But whether you find them in the next sixty days is a big goddamn if. You really want to put all your eggs in that basket?”

“What do you suggest?”

“Marry Fabiana now. Mother turned your resistance into evidence against you. Neutralize that weapon.”

I raked a hand through my hair and glanced out the window, turning that over.

“The marriage might’ve been Mother’s idea,” Alessio continued, “but whatever her original plan was, it’s clearly irrelevant now that Dad’s gone. Lock down the Messero alliance before anyone starts testing the cracks, and show the capos you’ll honor Dad’s arrangements. And do it quick, before Mother goes to Messero and tries to make some other kind of move with him.”

I’d spoken to Messero earlier, and there’d been no mention of Fabiana calling the engagement off. He would have said something if she’d talked to him, which meant she hadn’t. At least not yet.

I rose from the sofa and moved toward the window. In the night sky, the moon glowed.

I’d hoped that after that night at the bistro, after I’d gotten her to agree to what I wanted, that I’d stop thinking about her.

That hadn’t happened.

She invaded my thoughts even more than before. I hated that I still felt guilty over how I broke her. I hated that when I closed my eyes, all I saw was that lone tear sliding down her cheek. I hated that I reached for the memory of her in my arms to soothe the ache inside my chest.

To have her as my wife…

Previously, that idea had only filled me with rage at having my life controlled by Mother, but now it filled me with something far worse. Something hot and possessive and demanding.

To marry a woman who got under my skin the way Fabiana did was dangerous.

But Alessio was right. Backing out of the wedding now would give Mother exactly the kind of ammo she needed. With Dad gone, the equation around the alliance had completely changed.

I looked up at Alessio. He was studying me with furrowed brows.

“It’s your birthright,” he said. “If you want it, you’re going to have to take it.”

Our empire wasn’t ruled by laws. It was ruled by conquerors. If I wanted this kingdom of dirty money and ruthless men to be mine, I had to claim it.

Even if it meant bringing Fabiana closer when every rational part of me knew I should keep her far away.

Now I just had to convince the fiancée I’d spent months trying to drive off to agree to marry me.

I dragged my palms down my face.

Fuck.

CHAPTER 12

FABIANA

The call came late in the evening of the third day following Gino’s death. I was already in bed in my pajamas, drinking a cup of mint tea and flipping through a pottery magazine that had come in the mail today. The house was quiet. Cleo had gone to sleep early, and Rafe was working in his office downstairs. He’d been so busy that I’d barely seen him the last few days.

I glanced at the screen and stilled when I saw the caller’s name.

I’d been expecting it. Cosimo and I had things to discuss—namely when he planned to break the news to Rafe that we weren’t getting married. By now, he must’ve realized I was going to let him do the honors.

I picked up. “Hello.”

“Fabiana.” Cosimo’s voice was rougher than usual, as if strained by overuse.

I didn’t know how to sort through the feelings that hearing his voice stirred. He was still an ass, but he’d just lost his father, and I felt sorry for him. My anger had cooled in the aftermath of Gino’s death, though it hadn’t gone away entirely. I wasn’t sure it ever would after the way he’d treated me.

The silence stretched for a beat too long.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I said. “It’s terrible what happened. I didn’t know him well, but we spoke a little at the engagement party, and I could tell he loved you a lot.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.” He sounded tired. Like he hadn’t slept in days. Was there anyone taking care of him?

I caught myself. Nope. None of my business.

I placed the half-empty mug on the nightstand. “How are you handling things?”

“There’s a lot to sort out now that he’s gone. I’m trying to stay on top of everything.”

“I can imagine.” I fingered the duvet. His answer didn’t touch on how he was actually feeling, but then again, why would it? We weren’t friends. Soon enough, we wouldn’t be anything to each other at all.

I cleared my throat. There was no point delaying the conversation any longer. “I haven’t said anything to Rafe yet about our engagement. As soon as he came home from his trip, he told me about Gino. It felt like the wrong time to bring it up. I figured there’s no reason you can’t call it off yourself now that you’re don.”

“I’m not don. In our family, when a don dies, there’s a period of mourning. Once the mourning period is over, the don is voted on and officially sworn in.”

I nodded slowly. “I see. So you’re still underboss.” Which had to mean he was in command by default. Right? That must be what Rafe had meant when he said Cosimo was now in charge. “Do you know when you’ll talk to my brother? About calling the engagement off?”

Silence.

“Cosimo? You still there?”

“I’m not calling it off.”

Something cold dropped through me. I sat up against the pillows. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re getting married, Fabiana.”

Had he lost his mind? “With all due respect, no. We’re not.”

“Everything has changed. Listen⁠—”

“No, you listen.” The sharpness in my own voice startled me. “I’m sorry. I know you’re grieving. But that dinner made it crystal clear that me and you are never going to work.”

“Everything has changed,” he repeated as if that explained anything. “I can’t lose this alliance with Messero now that my family’s destabilized.”

Something hot flared inside my chest. “You never planned on losing your alliance with Rafaele, marriage or not,” I said sharply. “It’s obvious you believed you could find a way to keep your business relationship with my brother intact regardless of whether we got married. Otherwise, I imagine you would have tried at least a little bit harder to make it work.”

“That’s true.” He sounded mildly taken aback, like he thought even a simple deduction like that was beyond me. Which was fine. I wasn’t trying to prove anything to him. Not anymore. I just wanted to move on. The quicker we ceased to have a reason to have any contact with each other, the quicker I’d forget about the way my pulse skittered in his vicinity.

“I won’t try to pit Rafaele against you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said.

“There are other reasons why this marriage isn’t optional anymore.”

And he obviously wasn’t in any rush to share them with me. No, he just expected to do a complete one-eighty and have me go along with it like some trained monkey.

My fist squeezed around my phone. “Do you not see how ridiculous you’re being?” I demanded. “You told me I don’t have what it takes to be a don’s wife, and now you’ve changed your mind, and you respect me so little that you won’t even explain to me the real reasons why!”

“I need to project stability and strength to the family. If my first act in the aftermath of Dad’s death does anything to jeopardize the partnership he worked so hard to establish, it’ll do the opposite.”

“I’m sure you can find a way to explain it to them,” I said, unmoved. He wanted me to be a part of his personal PR campaign. How little did he think of me to presume I’d go along with this after how he’d treated me? I still possessed some self-respect.

“Fabiana—”

All the hurt I’d been holding down—the rehearsed speeches, the nights staring at the ceiling, the humiliation that burned in my throat like acid—rose up and spilled over.

“I won’t do it, Cosimo. Not to help you avoid a difficult conversation with your family. You clearly didn’t care about how difficult it would have been for me to tell Rafaele I couldn’t go through with the marriage. So, no, Cosimo. The answer is no. Out of respect, I’ll give you a few days to talk to Rafaele yourself. If you won’t, I’ll do it myself. This engagement is done.”

And then I did something I’d never done in my entire life.

I hung up on him.

Not ten seconds later, my phone rang again.

I picked up against my better judgment.

“I’ve taken care of the problem with your coworker.”

The words I’d been about to say—don’t call me again—died on my tongue. “What?”

“She just received an offer from a museum in Zurich, where she’ll be managing special events. A short-term contract for now, but they’ll extend it if she manages to impress them.”

I blinked at the wall across from me while my brain scrambled to make sense of this information. “You got Mona a job? How?”

“The hiring manager doesn’t make a lot. Life in Geneva is expensive. Guess you could say I bribed him.”

I nearly choked on my next inhale. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“That wasn’t my intentio⁠—”

“I don’t understand.” I gripped the phone tighter. “Why would you do that?”

“So you can stop feeling guilty about something that wasn’t your fault. I figured after how I’ve treated you these last few months, a kind gesture was in order.”

Inside me, something loosened. A kind gesture. I suppose it was if you ignored the illegality of it.

I’d carried a weight on my shoulders ever since Geneva, worrying about Mona. Wondering if I’d screwed up her entire career.

Now I could stop. She was going to be fine.

I guess I had Cosimo to thank for that. And I’d thank him. But I wasn’t going to marry him. “I appreciate that, Cosimo. But a kind gesture isn’t going to change my mind.”

“I’ve also taken care of your boss.”

Apprehension filtered through my lungs. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I would send you the photos my associate provided, but I’m not sure you want to see them.”

“Photos? Oh my God.”

“He’ll be fine after a few surgeries.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth.

“He emailed his resignation this morning. In it, he explained in detail exactly what happened between you two. He admitted to it all. I expect your name will be completely cleared at the UN.”

I didn’t know what to say. Inside me, everything frothed and buzzed.

The truth was out. My name would be cleared. I would’ve rejoiced if not for the methods Cosimo had used to get these results. Girarde was a liar, but he didn’t deserve the mob treatment.

“You really, really didn’t have to do that,” I said.

“Yeah. I did. He made the unfortunate mistake of fucking with my future wife.”

“Not your future wife.” Was he trying to make me feel indebted to him so that I would consider going through with the marriage? Or was he genuinely trying to make amends?

I understood him best when he was cruel. This version of him—terrifying yet weirdly thoughtful in the same breath—made me feel unsteady.

“Cosimo, my answer is still no. Goodbye.” Again, I hung up. I didn’t want to hear any more.

I got out of bed, stumbled to the window, and stuck my head out into the November air to cool off. Adrenaline coursed through my bloodstream. Cosimo wasn’t someone who gave up easily. That much was painfully clear.

How had he even found the time to do all this while he was dealing with everything else? Had this marriage really become this important for his family? For him?

Now that he wanted to marry me again, how far would he go? And if he kept refusing to call off the wedding, would Rafe let me back out?

I’d never been certain that he would. And now, with Gino dead, I wasn’t sure if my odds had gotten better or worse.

I nibbled on my nail and stared at the moon, wondering for the dozenth time since I’d returned to New York what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

A half hour or so later, I was downstairs making myself another tea when the doorbell rang.

I jumped. Scalding water spilled everywhere, barely missing my bare toes.

Shuffled footsteps sounded in the foyer. Rafe had placed additional security inside the house, much to Cleo’s and Yeti’s annoyance. Yeti barked at everyone he didn’t know well, and right now, he was losing it.

A familiar low voice reached me, and my stomach dropped.

“Fabiana!” My brother’s voice echoed from down the hall. “Come here.”

I trudged toward them the way a prisoner walks to the gallows. The two men stood close to each other talking, and I had a sinking feeling that my chances of getting out of the marriage were diminishing with every word.

Cosimo’s gaze slid over my pajamas and down my bare legs. I suddenly felt like I was extremely underdressed for whatever this was.

“There she is.” Rafe waved me closer. “Cosimo wants to talk to you about making some adjustments to the wedding ceremony.”

“Sorry for the late hour,” he said, and I was sure that was the first time I’d heard him apologize for anything.

“Why don’t you talk in the library?” Rafe suggested.

What would Cosimo do if I just said no? If I ripped the Band-Aid off and told Rafaele right now that I was done?

Cosimo must’ve read the thought in my gaze, because he took a step forward. “It’ll just take a second.”

I shook my head. “I don’t⁠—”

“Please.” His voice was low, his expression almost imploring.

I glanced at Rafe. He was distracted, typing something out on his phone with furrowed brows. He hadn’t slept much these past few nights. Did I really want to cause a scene right now and pile more onto his plate?

Damn it.

I shot a glare at Cosimo. “Follow me.”

The library was one of my favorite rooms in the entire house, and inviting him in here felt sacrilegious. I pushed through the double doors, marched halfway in, and whirled around to face him. “What now?”

His eyes burned with terrifying determination as he closed the doors behind him with a loud click.

“You need to hear me out.”

“I’ve heard enough.”

He began walking toward me. “No, you haven’t, because you keep hanging up on me.”

“I heard everything I needed to hear. There’s⁠—”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I bit back, taking a step backward as he kept moving forward.

“For how I treated you these past few months. You didn’t deserve that.”

I frowned. He sounded weirdly genuine, like he actually meant it instead of just saying what he assumed I wanted to hear.

I felt myself waver.

No. Don’t.

I shook my head and took another few steps back. “I don’t want your apologies. I never want to see you again.” My shoulder blades hit the shelves behind me.

“Fabiana—”

“No!” My frustration spilled over. I pushed at his chest, because by now, he was right freaking there, but he was built like a damn brick wall. “There’s got to be some way for you to get what you want without signing me up for a lifetime of misery with you!”

His palms curled around my wrists and held them to him. “Not a lifetime. Six months. Give me six months.”

I froze. “What?”

“I’ll annul the marriage after six months. That’s enough time for me to stabilize the family, get voted in as don, and find my father’s killers. After that, I’ll set you free.”

I stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. What he was proposing was impossible. “You can’t do that.”

“I’ll be don of the Ferraro family. I’ll be able to do whatever I want. I’ll talk to your brother, smooth things out, make sure our partnership isn’t compromised. You can leave all that to me. I just need you to marry me as soon as possible, play your part, and stay with me for six months. That’ll be long enough for it to look like we gave it a proper chance.”

I paused. He was serious. He really thought this could work, and he made it sound so simple.

It wasn’t.

“Do you not understand what that will do to me? In our world, I’d be damaged goods.”

Something in his eyes darkened, almost as if he was suddenly displeased, but it was gone in the next blink. “Exactly. You’ll be off the marriage market forever. Rafaele isn’t going to ask you to marry anyone else. You’ll be done. Free.”

“Free?” The word tasted foreign on my tongue. What did that even mean for someone like me?

I didn’t know. I only knew that what I had now wasn’t that. And what I had in Geneva hadn’t been that either.

Up until now, no matter how far from home life had taken me, I’d always known that I would end up back here. Married off to someone I didn’t choose.

I’d never even allowed myself to dream of anything else. Why torture myself? Why hope for the impossible? Someone like Elena might have the courage to try to break the chains of expectation that held us captive. To risk the relationship she had with Rafe, with the rest of the family. But me? I didn’t.

No, even if Rafe allowed me to walk away from the marriage with Cosimo, there’d be someone else a few years from now. Someone else he’d choose.

What would it be like to be free of all that?

Inside me, something unlatched. Like a window that had been stuck shut until now.

And in came a breeze. Teasing me. Tempting me.

A life on my own terms. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I felt like I was about to float out that window when Cosimo’s squeeze on my wrists brought me back down.

I blinked up at him, almost dazed. His eyes were absurdly blue this close.

“Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself,” he whispered.

Six months. That was all he was asking.

Six months, and I’d never have to go through this again.

But for six months, I’d have to pretend our marriage was real. I’d have to live in his house, stay by his side, play a role in his family.

The role of a don’s wife. The role he’d told me I was too gullible to play.

Prove him wrong.

It was tempting. Very.

But it wasn’t tempting enough for me to give this asshole exactly what he wanted.

I yanked my hands free. “Six months of you insulting me? Disrespecting me? I don’t think so, Cosimo. I’ve had more than enough of that.”

I expected him to get angry. Instead, something in his expression softened. “It wouldn’t be like that.”

“I don’t believe you. You’ve given me no reason to think you can be anything but a condescending ass.”

“What do you want me to do, Fabiana? Get on my knees and beg?”

“That would be a start.”

I hadn’t meant it. The words were just a barb, flung at him on instinct.

And yet, to my astonishment, his jaw tightened—and then he dropped to his knees in front of me.

I let out a stunned gasp.

His dark gaze pinned me in place. “Here I am. I’m not beyond humility if that’s what it takes to get what I need. You will not be humiliated or disrespected as my wife. Not by me, and not by anyone else. That’s a promise.”

I could only stare.

He was the underboss of the Ferraro family. The man who would be sworn in as don in sixty days. And he was on his knees in front of me.

I hadn’t thought him capable of this, and I’d believed I knew exactly who he was.

He held out his hand. “Just six months.”

I swallowed. I looked at his hand. The broad palm. The long fingers.

If Cosimo truly wanted to force this marriage, he could’ve found a way. He could’ve dealt directly with my brother, taking my choice from me.

But he didn’t. He had brought me a deal, and now he was on his knees, hand outstretched, waiting for my answer.

For the first time since we’d met, he was treating me like an equal.

And that realization had me taking his hand and saying, “Deal.”

CHAPTER 13

COSIMO

The plan had worked. We’d reached an agreement.

I didn’t relish the fact that I’d had to all but fucking beg for it, but it had gotten the job done, hadn’t it? Humbling myself in front of Fabiana for a minute was worth it if it meant I’d have her cooperation for the next six months.

And I did need her cooperation.

The marriage wouldn’t work otherwise. Everyone would be watching us more closely now that Dad was gone. For my family, our wedding had become a symbol—a statement of confidence in the Ferraro family’s ability to survive.

A wife who fought me every step of the way wasn’t going to cut it.

The idea of offering to annul the marriage after six months came to me just after my conversation with Les. I knew it would help convince Fabiana, and it had also put a boundary around the arrangement.

Which was good.

I didn’t fully trust myself as far as that woman was concerned. Knowing this thing between us had an end date would help me keep a lid on the attraction I felt for her. The attraction I had no plans to indulge in.

It’d been three days since we’d shaken hands, and I was in my downtown office, reviewing some contracts for a warehouse I planned to buy. I glanced at the clock. Fabiana would be here any minute. We’d agreed to meet to discuss what was going to happen next.

My number one priority was to make her Mrs. Ferraro as soon as possible. As in weeks, not months, from now.

“Mr. Ferraro, your fiancée is here,” the secretary announced, poking her head in.

My pen paused over the paper. “Send her in.”

I finished signing the contract in front of me, capped the pen, and set it down. My gaze lifted just in time to see Fabiana walk in. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her hair was a little tousled. She looked young and breathtakingly beautiful.

She placed a takeout cup on my desk and started shrugging off her coat. There was some red lipstick on the edge of the lid, and a sweet smell reached my nose.

“What’s that?”

She hung her coat on the back of the chair. “Dirty chai latte.”

“Dirty?”

“Has espresso in it.” She took a seat across from me.

Before I could question what I was doing, I reached over the desk and wrapped my palm around the drink. She stilled as she watched me pick it up and bring it to my lips. “May I?”

A beat. Then she nodded.

I took a sip, my lips covering the red mark.

It was sweet, but also bitter and spicy. Surprisingly good. “Not bad,” I said, handing the drink back.

Her fingers brushed against mine as she took it from me. A faint trickle of static electricity passed between us. Just as she’d watched me, I watched her bring the cup up to her lips, her mouth touching the exact spot where mine had just been.

Heat rushed to my cock. Fuck me. Who would’ve thought sharing a fucking latte could be this erotic?

I shifted in my seat. “Is this what you usually get?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Yeah.”

“Every morning?”

Slowly, she arched one perfect brow. “Why are you so interested in my drink order?”

I shrugged, trying to play off the weird curiosity that had seized me the moment she’d walked through the door. “If we’re going to do this right, we need to know a little about each other.”

Bitterness slipped into her expression. “You mean like I’ve been trying to convince you to do since day one?”

I twirled my pen. “I told you it’ll be different.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

I wanted to know a lot of things. What she looked like when she woke up in the morning. The sounds she made when she came. The flavor of her mouth.

But I settled on, “You got any hobbies?”

She leaned back and crossed her legs. “Pottery classes. I was just at one this morning.”

“You any good?”

She glanced down at something on the floor. “I can show you what I made. You can decide for yourself.” She lifted her purse off the ground, produced a small cardboard box from inside of it, and slid it across the desk toward me. “It’s a mug.”

I took it out. The inside was the color of clay, but the outside was painted. Some plants. A butterfly. Near the bottom, Fabiana had signed her initials.

“What’s this plant?” I asked as I turned the mug in front of me.

“A stinging nettle.”

My eyes snapped to hers. You’re kidding. What were the odds?

“What do you think?” she asked.

I placed the mug down, then inched it with one finger toward the corner of my desk. “I like how it looks right there.”

“You want to keep it?” she asked, sounding slightly confused.

I did. I liked the thought of having something of hers in my office, and I wasn’t going to examine the reasons for that too deeply. “It’s a good conversation starter. Gives me a reason to bring you up and flaunt the alliance.”

She nodded like that made sense. “Okay. And you? Hobbies?”

“None really. Besides the gym.”

“What do you do to relax?”

“Sauna. I have one at my house. I use it a few times a week.”

Slight color appeared in her cheeks. “Huh. Didn’t expect that. You seem more of an ice-bath kind of guy.”

I cocked a brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You strike me as someone who’d glorify discomfort and call his ability to withstand it a virtue.”

I hid my surprise. She…was correct. Comfort meant complacency, and in my world, complacency got you killed.

I also did, in fact, have an ice bath next to the sauna, but I wasn’t about to volunteer that information.

“Let me guess,” I said, “you relax with candlelit massages and love to read by the fireplace.”

“I do like to read,” she admitted. “But I'm not a big fan of massages. I’m too ticklish.”

An image of her lying topless on a massage table flashed in my head, sending a jolt to my cock. I cleared my throat. “I think that’s enough personal trivia for one day. Let’s talk about the wedding. I want to move it up to three weeks from now.”

Fabiana’s eyes all but fell out of her head. “That’s impossible. We won’t be ready.”

“Nothing is impossible.”

“I mean the venue⁠—”

“If the venue is the problem, give me their number, and I’ll make sure they stop being a problem.”

“The band⁠—”

“Cut the band. Cut whatever you need to. The celebration can’t be what we planned before my father died. We’ll be getting married during the mourning period.”

Fabiana looked flustered. “Okay. I’ll have to talk to your mom about the changes.”

I shook my head. “No. This is between you and the planner. My mother isn’t contributing to the planning anymore. She’s grieving, and this is the last thing she needs to be doing right now.”

Fabiana didn’t know Mother was competing with me for the succession. She couldn’t know. Vita hadn’t informed anyone of her ambitions besides me and my brothers. I had a feeling she was waiting to reveal them at a moment that would best serve her, but I gained nothing from exposing her early. The longer I could operate as Dad’s assumed successor and rally the capos around me, the better off I’d be.

After that dinner, after I’d learned that Nettle was genuine, I trusted her…to an extent. But a piece of information this sensitive? There was no need for her to know it.

Fabiana frowned. “But she’s been the final decision maker on everything up until now.”

“You’re an event planner, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I’ve never planned a wedding.”

“I have complete faith in your ability to handle this.”

She seemed startled. “You do?”

“Sure. The event you threw for Messero was well done, despite the questionable art. Talk to the planner and come to me if you need any help. But it needs to happen three weeks from now.”

She swiped her palms back and forth over her thighs. “Okay. Right.” She blew out a breath and sat up straighter, as if rallying herself. The anxious look in her eyes gave way to determination. “Could we maybe look at the agenda together now? Just so that we can agree on what we’re keeping.”

“Fine.”

“Can you pull it up on your computer? I think you’re on the email chain.”

While I clicked through my inbox, she came around my desk to look at the screen. She stood beside me, and the scents of lemon and lavender hovered at the edge of my attention.

“Here,” I said, opening the attached file.

She leaned over and grabbed the mouse from me. She was close enough for me to make out the light-brown freckles across the tops of her cheeks. Heat slipped beneath my skin, the way it always seemed to in her presence.

“We can cut the dancing at the end…” she began.

I tried to focus on what she was saying, but my gaze kept drifting to those damn freckles. It quickly became apparent she didn’t actually need any of my input, and that was a good thing considering how distracted she made me. Nettle was completely capable of handling this. She just lacked the confidence to make the decisions on her own.

“I think this is doable,” she concluded, closing the file with the agenda. “We should also probably talk about where we’re staying that night.” She straightened up and looked down at me. “We have the honeymoon suite booked at the hotel for the original date, but I suggest we cancel. We should be able to get half of the cost refunded.”

I turned my chair to face her and linked my hands in my lap. “Why would we cancel it? Why not just move the date up.”

She tucked a strand behind her ear. “Well, since the reception won’t go too late, we could just fly back home that same night. It’s only a fifty-minute flight from the venue back to New York. Then we could each have our own room. I assume you have a guest bedroom in your house.”

I did. And of course that was where I’d planned on putting her while we lived together. So why was I annoyed by the fact that she was bringing it up proactively?

“We could cancel it, but sharing a suite for one night isn’t a big deal,” I said, keeping my tone nonchalant. “I’m sure there’s a couch.”

What the fuck are you doing? a voice in my head demanded. You know that’s a bad idea.

I ignored the voice.

She shifted her weight between her feet. “I’d prefer not to. I think it would be best if we maintain clear boundaries during the next six months. It goes without saying,” she continued, “that since this isn’t a real engagement or a real marriage, we’re not going to…you know.”

I arched a brow. “What?”

Her cheeks reddened. “Be intimate.”

Amusement tugged on my lips. That was the most virginal way anyone could possibly have phrased it.

“We should probably talk about what’s acceptable and what’s not,” she continued. “Holding hands and hugging is fine. I assume we’ll have to kiss at the altar, and maybe on a few other very, very rare occasions. But I don’t see any reason why we’d need to take it any further than that. Right?”

It was the second very that got to me. “I don’t know, Fabiana. My secretary might get suspicious if she doesn’t hear you moaning my name through the office wall at least once a week.”

The flush spread from her cheeks to the rest of her face. She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Even if we were hooking up in your office, I’m pretty sure I could restrain myself from moaning your name.”

My gaze dragged down her body. She had no fucking idea the things I could do to her. The pleasure I could make her feel. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“You’re pretty confident, huh?”

“Believe me, the confidence is well-earned.”

Her throat bobbed. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Guess so.”

We held each other’s gazes for a drawn-out moment, the air between us simmering with tension. She glanced away first.

At last, I returned to my senses. “You’re right. Cancel the suite. We’ll fly home.” The less time I spent in a bedroom alone with her, the better. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to argue otherwise.

“Great,” she said in a tight voice, coming around the desk to grab her purse. “And the rest? Do you agree?”

“Yes. We’ll stick to first base.”

It was exactly what I’d wanted.

So why the hell couldn’t I shake my agitation?

CHAPTER 14

FABIANA

The next time I saw Cosimo was at his father’s funeral. A sea of mourners dressed in black filled the cemetery rows. The turnout was staggering. Hundreds of people had come, even though the service had been arranged in a matter of days.

I stood at Cosimo’s side while the priest read his remarks, my mind drifting back to our meeting in his office a few days earlier.

The deal we’d made was simple. Cosimo was not.

I’d spent all this time hoping he’d show an interest in getting to know me. Now that he was, I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The man I’d dismissed as an ass was turning out to be not nearly as hard to get along with as I’d thought. I should be thrilled. Or at least relieved. It meant getting through the next six months wouldn’t be as difficult as I’d initially thought it would be.

And yet I was afraid of what might happen to the simmering attraction I felt toward him in the absence of his icy coldness.

I stole a discreet glance at him. Despite standing beside each other for the past hour, we hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words. His expression was made of granite—blank, hard, impenetrable. Whatever grief he felt for his father had been locked away so completely that it left no cracks on the surface. A future don couldn’t afford to look weak. Not even here. Not with this many eyes on him.

He reached down and took my hand.

A jolt ran up my arm. I inhaled and prayed I’d hidden my surprise well enough. I couldn’t flinch every time he touched me. This was well within the boundaries we’d agreed on.

The boundaries I’d hoped would be enough to keep my heart safe.

His hold on me was firm, and he didn’t let go until the ceremony was over.

On the way to the reception hall, Mia caught up to me. “Fabi, can we talk for a second?”

“I’ll find you inside,” I said to Cosimo before I split off from him and the rest of the crowd. Mia and I stopped by a marble mausoleum with an angel carved out of dark stone perched on top of it.

She pulled me into a hug. “How are you? I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday like I said I would. It’s been crazy.”

I squeezed her back. “It’s okay. How are things with Rom?”

She’d told me a few days ago that she and Romolo had been seeing each other in secret. When the explosion went off, she was at her father’s campaign office, watching the news break alongside the rest of his staff. When she tried to go to Romolo, her father stopped her and locked her away in his apartment against her will. He wasn’t willing to risk his campaign by letting it come out that his daughter was involved with someone from the very family he’d publicly vowed to destroy.

Romolo had gone after her anyway. And gotten her out.

She sighed. “Rom’s been taking good care of me. My dad was taken into custody last night.”

My eyes widened. “Oh, Mia.”

She explained how she’d given Rom and Cosimo a recording she’d made of her dad confessing he’d taken illegal donations to finance his campaign. Her father’s campaign was over, and he would face charges.

“How do you feel?”

Mia picked at her cuticles. “He knew about the bomb, Fabi. The people who seem to be behind it—the Santoros—they’re the same ones who were backing his campaign. It was lucky no one else got hurt.”

She didn’t need to spell it out for me to understand what she really meant. It could have been Romolo. The man she loved.

I brushed my palms over her arms. “You made the right choice.”

She gave me a sad smile. “We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

“Of course.” I glanced over my shoulder. “I’ve got to go find Cosimo.”

I started to turn when she caught my wrist. “Fabi, be careful around Vita.”

My gaze jumped to her. “Why? What happened?”

“She was the one who set Rom on me. And she wanted him to do some pretty awful things to expose my dad.” Mia hesitated, looking as though there was more sitting on her tongue. Then she swallowed. “Some things aren’t for me to say, but just know you can’t trust her.”

Her warning stayed with me as I moved through the reception hall in search of Cosimo. I had thought it was odd that Vita had stood across from her sons at the gravesite instead of beside them. Had something happened between them since Gino died?

There’d always been something off about Cosimo’s relationship with her. Maybe now that we were warming up to each other, he’d finally tell me what that something was.

I found him in the corner of the room, a line of people already waiting to greet him. His gaze found mine, and something flashed inside it. Not warmth, but maybe relief. I couldn’t be sure. The line of mourners stretched halfway across the room. I slipped into place beside him and turned a polite smile on the next person who approached.

An hour into the wake, most of Gino’s political and professional contacts had left. The people still here—the men who’d worked for him, family, and friends—were succumbing to nostalgia, encouraged by waiters who took seriously their job of keeping everyone’s glasses filled with red wine.

“Without Gino, I would’ve never gotten a chance to do what I was meant to,” Anthony, one of Cosimo’s cousins who was about my age, said. From our conversation, I’d gathered he was a struggling fashion designer. “He believed in me, unlike some other people here.” His gaze slid to somewhere behind me. “I’ve been trying to dress the women in this family for three years. None of them are interested. I think it’s because I once critiqued Vita’s Annabel Wang. Annabel is a brilliant designer, but she hasn’t had anything interesting to say since her Summer 2010 collection.”

“I’d love to check out your stuff,” I told him. “And my friend Mia is a stylist. Maybe I can introduce you two?”

Anthony’s eyes lit up. “You’re just precious. Let me give you my card.” He pulled one out of the inner pocket of his jacket, handed it to me, then looked down at his wineglass. “I’m going to get something stronger than this.”

As he walked away, my attention shifted back to Cosimo. He’d drifted a few feet behind me and was now looking intensely uncomfortable as a gray-haired woman half his height spoke to him through tears, clutching her handkerchief in one hand.

I sighed. If there was one thing I’d learned about my fiancé over the last few hours, it was that he really didn’t know how to comfort crying women. At the first sight of tears, he went stiff and looked ready to make a run for it.

To his credit, he hadn’t actually fled from anyone yet. But the awkward shoulder pats he’d been giving mourners all afternoon were excruciating to watch.

The elderly woman’s sobs grew louder. Cosimo took a gulp of his whiskey.

I decided I’d put him out of his misery and walked over to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Cosimo’s fiancée, Fabi. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The woman dabbed the handkerchief under her eyes as she tried to compose herself. “I’m Sarah. I apologize, I’m just– Well, I was Cosimo’s cleaning lady when he was growing up. I worked for Gino and Vita for ten years. When I was in a spot of trouble, Gino…” Her voice broke. “He helped me a lot. He was good like that.”

She broke down into tears again. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and rubbed her back. “What did he help you with?”

“My sister had a health issue. She didn’t have insurance, and we couldn’t afford the treatment. Mr. Ferraro overheard me talking to her, and without me even asking, he told me he’d cover it.” She hiccupped. “That kind of generosity is so rare.”

“That’s a beautiful memory of him,” I said. “Have you written that in the guest book? It’s right near the entrance.”

She glanced over her shoulder and blew her nose into her handkerchief. “I’ll go do that. Thank you, dear. And thank you, Mr. Ferraro.”

Cosimo’s response was a grunt mixed with some kind of incomprehensible mumble.

As Sarah walked away, he turned to me. “You could’ve come sooner.”

“I enjoyed watching you showcase your complete lack of emotional range.”

He huffed, clearly amused. “What exactly am I supposed to do in this situation?”

“Offer a few words of comfort. Maybe a hug.”

“I don’t hug.”

Why wasn’t I surprised? Cosimo’s walls might’ve lowered a fraction with me, but the man clearly wasn’t making a habit out of it.

“Well, I’d recommend doing more than those awkward pats on the shoulder.”

“My pats are not awkward. My pats are fine,” he said, sounding defensive.

“You looked like you were touching a porcupine, not a person.”

He shook his head. “Since you’re so much better at this, stay close to me.”

It was an order, not a request, and it rubbed me wrong. “Ask nicely.”

His gaze narrowed. He probably got away with talking like this to most people, but he’d made me a promise, and I was going to hold him to it.

I let a few seconds pass before I shrugged. “All right. I think I’ll go talk to Rafe and Cleo.”

“Stay.” Then after a beat, he added, “Please.”

“I wish I’d recorded that. I bet there are a lot of people out there who’d pay good money to hear you say the word please.”

“Funny. My dad’s funeral is a great occasion for your comedy debut.”

Crap. Guilt ballooned inside my chest. “Sorry. That was really insensitive of me.”

“Jesus, Fabiana. I was joking.” His elbow brushed against my own. “Relax.”

“Oh.” I let out a pent-up breath. “Right.”

“Dad would’ve loved a comedy show to round out tonight. He wouldn’t want this to be a depressing affair. Although I doubt you have enough material in you to deliver a full set.”

A smile tugged on my lips. “Whatever.”

I heard a low laugh.

Something inside me fluttered, but I did my best to ignore it. “Did you see the email the wedding planner sent last night?”

“I did. Looks like everything is on track.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got some bills to pay. Most of the vendors and the venue were definitely not thrilled about us blowing up months of planning.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“The planner has been extremely stressed due to all the changes. I was thinking about giving her a bonus.”

“I’m not paying her a bonus just for doing her job.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Between your whole speech about disliking frivolous spending and the fact that you seemed personally offended by my brother so smartly investing his money in a private art collection, I can just tell you’re a Scrooge.”

He scoffed. “I’ve been called worse. By the way, I saw you talking to Anthony. I’m warning you right now, don’t buy into his sob story. He’s been a money pit ever since he opened that fucking atelier.”

“He seems passionate about his work.”

“If he designed things that were practical, he might be successful. But so far, all his experiments are too fucking weird for anyone to be interested in them.”

Now I was really curious. “Until I see his designs, I’m just going to assume you’re being unfair. After all, we’ve already established you don’t understand art.”

“I understand it perfectly. It’s a racket, that’s what it⁠—”

We were interrupted by a heavyset man barreling toward us. “Look at you, my boy! How long has it been? Five years?” He slapped Cosimo’s back. I could smell the alcohol wafting off him.

“Peter,” Cosimo said coolly as he shook the man’s hand.

“Came all the way from Vegas to pay my respects. You know, your father and I were supposed to meet up a few months ago, but we had to cancel. Shame.” His unfocused gaze slid my way. “And who’s this?”

“This is my fiancée, Fabiana Messero.”

“Well, would you look at this.” Peter pivoted toward me, and his gaze slid over me in a way that made my skin feel sticky. “Your father picked her out for you himself? Good man. Took care of you, didn’t he?” He inched closer. “God, look at you. How’s a man supposed to get any work done with that waiting at home?” Moving faster than a man this inebriated should be able to, he grabbed my chin.

I gasped. Cold fingers dug into my skin hard enough to hurt.

Then they were gone. Cosimo stood in front of me, his body completely blocking my view.

Crack. A pained groan.

My stomach dropped. What the hell was that?

“Touch her again, and I’ll break all of them.”

Surely I’d imagined it. Surely Cosimo hadn’t just broken someone’s finger as punishment for him touching me.

Then I remembered—I would send you the photos my associate provided, but I’m not sure you want to see them—and ice slid through my veins.

Cosimo cleaned up well in a suit and a tie, but I wasn’t marrying a businessman for the next six months. I was marrying a mob boss.

I’d do well to remember that.

I peered around Cosimo, trying to figure out what was happening. There was a shuffle of movement, and two of Cosimo’s men led Peter away.

Cosimo rolled his shoulders and turned to me. His brows were pulled tight, and his mouth was a hard line as he assessed me. “Did he hurt you?”

“He barely touched me.”

“He shouldn’t have touched you at all.”

Apprehension wrapped around my lungs. “Did you break his finger?”

His gaze darkened. “A man who’s stupid enough to touch you once you’re my wife won’t be just maimed. He’ll be killed.”

Those words should have horrified me. And they did. But as he moved to my side and pressed a firm palm against my lower back, a wave of heat rippled inside my belly.

There was something intoxicating about being under his protection. About knowing that he’d keep me safe.

From everyone but himself.

I swallowed.

Some of the people standing nearby were casting glances our way after having witnessed what’d just happened with Peter.

“We caused a scene,” I said in a low voice.

Cosimo leaned into me, his lips close to my ear. “Peter caused a scene. You have a habit of taking responsibility for things that aren’t your fault.”

And yet Peter was gone, and here we were, and everyone was staring. I felt like an ant under a microscope. “I’m going to get some air.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me.” He took me by the hand and led me out of the reception hall.

Outside, the sky hung low and gray. The scent of damp soil still lingered from the rain that had passed through earlier. The graveside service had begun in the early afternoon, and even now, there was still light in the sky. Cosimo and I walked until we were nearly at the curb, far from the cluster of smokers gathered close to the entrance.

He seemed lost in thought.

What was going through his head? We’d talked more over the last few days than we had during the entirety of our engagement, and yet he still felt unreadable to me in so many ways. He was a man who revealed only what he had to, and not an inch more.

I pulled my coat tighter around me and thought of Mia’s warning. “I barely spoke to your mother today.” There’d only been a brief greeting when I arrived at the cemetery. “I thought she might come find us at some point. Do you know how she’s handling all this?”

“Don’t worry about my mother.”

His tone had gone abruptly cold.

I frowned. “She just lost her husband of thirty years. Of course I’m going to worry about her.”

“Or maybe, for once, you could try not to take responsibility for a problem that has nothing to do with you,” he said sharply.

Shock hollowed out my lungs.

Before I could recover, he pressed on. “I want you to stay away from her. For the entire duration of our marriage.”

My head jerked back. “You can’t say something like that without telling me why.”

“Yes, I can.”

Frustration flashed through me. Had I revised my opinion of him too quickly? “I agreed to this deal because you said you’d treat me with respect. Shutting me out and ordering me around is not respectful.”

His stare stayed hard and guarded, but when I turned to walk back inside, his hand closed around my arm, and something in his expression eased by the smallest degree.

“Look,” he said, “my mother and I disagree about something important. That’s all I can tell you. It’s a private matter, and she and I will sort it out ourselves. I’m asking you to accept that.”

I wanted to push. I could feel the questions gathering behind my teeth. But I stopped myself. Did I really need to know what was going on between the two of them to do my job for the next six months?

A job. Yes. That was how I needed to think about this. That was how I would keep myself from getting confused. The less entangled I became with Cosimo and his family, the better. I would do what he needed me to do, play my part, and spend the rest of my time thinking about the life waiting for me on the other side of this arrangement.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do my best to avoid her if that’s what you want.”

“It is.” His hand fell away from me. “Let’s go back. Given how much wine everyone’s consuming, they’ve probably already forgotten about Peter.”

A gust of wind caught my hair, whipping a few strands across my face. I lifted a hand to smooth them back.

That was when I saw him.

Out in the cemetery, between the rows of headstones that stood silently in the pale gray light, a man stood near Gino’s grave. He looked down at the fresh grave, the bare trees casting thin shadows across the ground around him.

Dark jeans, a leather jacket, a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. He hadn’t been at the funeral or the wake. All the other men had been in suits. He would’ve stood out immediately.

“Cosimo,” I whispered. “Look. Who is that?”

A beat passed. I glanced at Cosimo. His gaze was fixed on the man at the graveside, his brows drawn tight. “I don’t know.”

As if he’d heard us, the man lifted his head.

Saw us.

Was that a scar on his face? I couldn’t be sure, because the next moment, he was already sliding his helmet back on. He began to walk toward the road leading out of the cemetery at a brisk pace.

Cosimo strode to the curb and out onto the road. “Hey!”

The man broke into a run.

Cosimo took off after him, but he was too far away. The stranger reached a motorcycle parked under a tree on the other side of the cemetery, swung onto it, and turned the engine on.

“Wait!” Cosimo shouted.

The bike roared to life, shattering the quiet of the cemetery. Cosimo was only halfway to the man when he tore off down the road.

The growl of the engine swelled and then faded as the bike disappeared around the bend.

CHAPTER 15

COSIMO

Somehow, in the span of just over a week, my engagement had gone from being my number one problem to being the only thing that was going well.

Fabiana had managed to make all the necessary changes with the planner, just like I knew she would. Why the hell did she doubt herself? Her insecurities were hard for me to understand, and for some reason, it irritated me that she appeared to have no idea how absurd they were.

In any case, the updated invitations had gone out this morning. By late afternoon, Mother walked through my office door.

“You’ve moved up the wedding,” she snapped, by way of greeting. “What a turnaround.”

Behind her, my secretary stood wringing her hands in the doorway, wearing an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferraro. I tried to tell her you’re busy.”

My mother rounded on her. “Busy? I’m his mother. I don’t need your permission to come talk to him.”

I smirked. It was more than a little satisfying to see her so annoyed. Her mask was slipping, even though she had a good enough excuse. She could hide behind her grief for now, but if she wanted to have a chance at winning the vote, she would have to start making moves soon.

A recent widow vying for her husband’s old throne? When the eldest son had just secured a historical alliance and was parading his mafia-royalty bride around for everyone to see?

Yeah. She was going to have a hard time walking that tightrope.

I nodded at the secretary. “It’s all right.” And it was, because it was likely the last time I’d have to see my mother here again.

When Dad was alive, I had to tolerate my mother coming and going whenever she pleased, as if she had a God-given right to stick her nose in my business. But that was about to change. The second she left the building today, I was going to make sure every person who worked for me understood that Vita Ferraro did not cross my threshold unless I expressly instructed them to allow it.

The secretary walked back out and closed the door behind her.

“So you received the updated invitation,” I drawled. “I hope you can make it.”

Wrath shone in her eyes. The same gray eyes that had looked on in smug satisfaction as I’d writhed in pain on the floor of her office when I’d been too small to defend myself.

“I’m glad to see you embracing your duty at last, Cosimo. Shame it took your father’s death to finally get you there.”

My fingers tapped against the folder on my desk. It was filled with stills from the cemetery footage.

We were going to find that biker. My gut told me he was connected to the Santoros. Maybe he was even one of them. After all, it wasn’t unusual for a murderer to show up at their victim’s grave.

I’d already tasked Romolo with tracking him down, and I had a strong suspicion that if we pulled on that thread hard enough, the mystery behind the family who’d killed my father would begin to unravel.

And with it, so would my mother’s plan. There’d be nothing she could do to convince the capos to vote for her if I was the one who found the killer.

“Now that I have embraced my duty, I assume you’re here to tell me you’ve decided to drop your ridiculous bid for succession?”

She let out a condescending laugh. “Why would I?” She tilted her head. “Saying I do is the easiest part of marriage, Cosimo. Then comes the hard part of actually being married. If you think people around you won’t notice that you can barely tolerate your wife, then you significantly overestimate your acting abilities. And once they see how unstable your marriage is, the stability of the alliance with the Messeros will come into question.”

Barely tolerate Fabiana? She must have been so busy working the room at the funeral that she hadn’t noticed the way I hadn’t left my fiancée’s side. It had started as a performance by the gravesite. But by the time we made it to the reception, it had transformed into something else.

I found Nettle’s presence strangely grounding. And while I’d bristled when she called me out for not knowing how to comfort people, I’d been grudgingly impressed by how easily she did it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My fiancée and I are getting along just fine.”

She scoffed. “Oh please. I know the kind of women you go for, Cosimo. Bold, self-assured, outspoken. You sometimes forget that I know you better than you know yourself.”

Amusement tugged on my mouth. I’d already suspected that Mother had picked Fabiana in response to seeing me with Rosa, and this all but confirmed it. She thought Rosa was the kind of woman I preferred. But she had no idea that our relationship wasn’t real.

“You are uniquely gifted at rewriting reality, I’ll give you that, Mother.”

Her mouth tightened. She bought into her own bullshit. That had always been her weakness.

“What I’m proposing wouldn’t be forever,” she said. “Just a few years while you prove to me that you’re worthy of the role.”

“The thing is, I don’t need to prove anything to you. You don’t get a vote. Only the capos vote. So if there’s anyone I need to impress, it’s them.” I leaned back in my chair. “And you’ll need to do the same if you want a chance at winning them over. If you truly know more about the Santoros than you’re letting on, I suggest you put that knowledge to good use and bring us something valuable. Something that helps us catch them.”

I was baiting her. I wanted to see if her claim to know more about the Santoros had any truth to it, or if it was just another one of her mind games.

But she didn’t bite. She only gave me a cold smile and said, “Maybe your attitude about becoming don will change the way it did about your marriage. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

I watched her walk out and shook my head.

She knew as well as I did there would be no changing my mind. But she wasn’t going to give up that easily.

Vita was already planning her countermove.

Whatever it was, I’d be ready.

CHAPTER 16

FABIANA

Five shot glasses with slices of lime resting on the rims lined Cleo’s kitchen island.

“Okay, ladies,” Zo announced, lifting her glass. “Before our bride gets dragged off to a life of wifely duties and respectable sex⁠—”

“Respectable sex?” Nina cut in with a snort.

“What does that even mean?” Mia asked.

“You know. Missionary with the lights off and a nine-thirty bedtime.”

Cleo snorted. “Don’t listen to her. As the only one here who’s actually married, I can attest to still having lots of disrespectful sex.”

“Cleo!” I hissed, heat rushing into my cheeks. “You’re married to my brother!”

“Sorry!”

Zo cleared her throat. “As I was saying, let’s toast to giving our Fabi a proper send-off.” She grinned and tossed back her shot.

The rest of us followed her lead.

My friends had insisted on a bachelorette party, despite me telling them it wasn’t exactly the best time for it given that the Ferraros were still in mourning. But Mia had said Romolo didn’t see a problem with it, and apparently, he didn’t think Cosimo would either, which had turned out to be true. Rom had volunteered his club, Black Silk, as the venue for the night, and Rafe had supplied his own security for us.

So here we were, about to leave the house with four bodyguards in tow and a giant pink limousine waiting outside.

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married,” Nina said as we headed toward the foyer. “It feels like yesterday we were in that dorm room at Valais Academy, and Mia was crying because she thought getting her first period meant she was dying.”

“I was twelve,” Mia said indignantly, grabbing her coat. “And there was a lot of blood.”

“There was also a pamphlet in the bathroom explaining exactly what was happening,” Zo reminded her.

“I was panicking,” Mia said. “I didn’t have time to read.”

I laughed and tried to ignore the uneasy twist in my chest as I followed them toward the front door. My friends thought this was my one and only bachelorette before I married my forever husband. None of them knew the truth. That this marriage was only meant to last six months.

Given how rough things were between Cosimo and me in the beginning, they knew all about my concerns. It had been an awkward pivot to suddenly tell them that we were getting along now.

His father’s death had provided a convenient explanation. Grief changed people. Pressure changed people. So maybe it wasn’t that difficult for people to believe that Cosimo’s behavior had shifted. My friends knew me well though, and I could tell some of them didn’t quite buy it when I smiled and said that he and I were doing great.

Maybe I wouldn’t have to keep this secret forever. Maybe once Cosimo and I had annulled the marriage, and I was living something that resembled a normal life, I could tell them the truth.

But for now, I had to pretend.

We filed out of the house, the limo driver holding the door open while the bodyguards hovered nearby wearing wary expressions. Cleo had already made them put on pink sashes that read The Brideguard. I wasn’t sure the men found them as funny as she did.

The second I looked inside the limo, I burst out laughing. It was stuffed with penis-shaped balloons of every possible size.

“I wanted to be inclusive!” Nina hollered as we got inside. “You should see the ads I’m getting on Facebook now.”

“Oh my God,” I said, covering my face. “You people are deranged.”

Once we got inside and the limo began to move, someone passed around champagne glasses.

Zo lifted hers high. “Here’s to the happy bride.”

“To Fabi,” Cleo added.

“To one last night of freedom,” Nina said with a grin.

Mia smiled at me over the rim of her glass. “And to marrying someone who better be worthy of you.”

My chest tightened. I lifted my own glass and touched it to theirs. “Thanks, guys.”

The champagne fizzed bright and cold on my tongue as the limo pulled away from the curb.

For tonight, I’d let myself pretend this really was what it looked like. A bride on her way to celebrate the beginning of forever, instead of a girl living a lie.

Strobe lights. Bottle girls with sparklers. Dancers writhing in suspended cages.

Recently voted the number one club in New York City, Black Silk felt like a piece of Vegas dropped into the Meatpacking District. After a few hours, I was finally starting to get used to the sensory overload and the way the pounding bass rattled against my ribs.

The shots were also tasting better the longer the night went on.

“Are you ready for the next dare?” Mia called out, swaying on the leather sofa to the beat of the music. “This is the last one. If you do it, you win the grand prize!”

My friends had devised a game for me. Each of them had come up with a dare, and if I completed them all, I won a prize.

I reached inside the sparkly pink hat with the word Bride spelled out in black rhinestones on the side.

“Zo!” I moaned as I read the card I’d just pulled out. “This one is yours. I’m not doing it!”

So far, I’d gotten ten strangers to autograph my arm, convinced the bartender to let me make someone a cocktail, and danced in one of the cages for three horrifying minutes.

But this next one? Yeah, even the competitiveness all the tequila had awakened in me wasn’t enough for me to do it.

Zo peeked over my shoulder and laughed. “I know you said you guys are getting along, but physically, you still haven’t broken the ice. I’m helping you warm up to each other, all right?” She pointed at the others. “These three just wanted you to embarrass yourself. I’m the only one being thoughtful!”

The card said, “Send a racy photo to Cosimo.”

Yeah. No. That was not happening. Not after we’d agreed on very clear boundaries regarding the physical side of our fake marriage.

Although…to be fair, we hadn’t specifically discussed photos.

Personally, I wouldn’t mind if Cosimo sent me a shirtless picture of himself. He had an annoyingly excellent body. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. The kind of build that made you understand why women throughout history sometimes made questionable decisions when it came to men.

When he’d held me during our photoshoot, I’d felt the hard shift of muscle beneath my hands. And I’d been curious about his tattoos ever since he mentioned them.

I pressed my cold glass to my cheek. I was definitely drunk. But even in my current state, I knew doing this dare was a terrible idea.

“If you don’t do it, you’re going to lose the game!” Nina shouted from across the booth. “And the last prize is the best one.”

I eyed all the prizes I’d gotten already. There was a Valais Vixens—the name we’d given our group back in boarding school—hoodie from Mia, a bracelet with a charm that looked like Yeti from Cleo, and a custom box of chocolates from Nina.

I loved all of them.

Zo’s prize had to be good.

Ugh.

“C’mon, it doesn’t even need to be anything too scandalous,” Zo said. “Trust me, you don’t want to be going into your wedding night with zero momentum.”

“C’mon, Fabi. Live a little.” Cleo handed me another shot glass. “Bottoms up!”

I threw the shot back. Tequila blazed a trail down my throat.

Jesus. My head spun a little as I placed the glass down, but just then, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning.

Send Cosimo a photo. Then delete it.

It was well past two in the morning. He was likely asleep at home. I could send the photo, show evidence to the girls, and then go straight to the bathroom and get rid of it.

He’d have no idea.

I grinned. Yep, it was brilliant. That prize was going to be mine.

“All right. Let’s do this.”

My friends cheered. I laughed. God, I loved these idiots.

Butt perched on the sofa, I held the phone in front of me and leaned forward. The white bodycon dress I wore had a low V-neck that showed off my cleavage. I opened my mouth, pressed an index finger to my bottom lip, and snapped it.

It was a good shot. Flattering. The kind of photo that made me look like someone who possessed a lot more confidence than I actually did.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I popped it into the chat I had going with Cosimo and pressed send.

Delivered.

Heat spread across the back of my neck.

Time for part two of the plan.

I held the phone out to Zo. “Happy?”

“You won the game!” Zo cheered. “Isn’t our bride-to-be so brave?” She got up onto the table in the center of the booth. “Come up here and dance to celebrate your victory!”

“I’ve got to pee! Where’s my prize?”

“It will reveal itself when the time is right,” she said mysteriously and handed me my purse. “Don’t take too long!”

“Not fair,” I said, rolling my eyes and shimmying out of the booth. Time was ticking. I had to get that photo deleted.

I rushed up the steps and turned down the dim hallway leading to the women’s bathrooms. The VIP area wasn’t that busy, so there was no line. I pushed inside and immediately opened my phone to the message app.

A few taps, and the photo was gone.

Mission accomplished.

I checked my reflection in the mirror to see if I needed to reapply my lipstick. Miraculously, it had held. I leaned in, plucking a stubborn piece of glitter from just below my eye.

Ping.

I looked down at my phone.

It was a text from Cosimo.

CHAPTER 17

COSIMO

Music pounded outside the main office. The sound-dampening material Rom had installed inside the walls of Black Silk only partially muffled it.

“I’ve sent the stills from the security cameras at the cemetery around town,” Rom said, propping his feet up on the table. “No hits on the biker yet. One photo got his profile, but it’s too blurry to really see anything. Most of the time, he’s either got his helmet on or his hood up, and he’s looking away from the cameras the entire time, which means he knew where they were.”

So he’d come prepared.

I scrubbed my palm against my jaw. Showing up at the graveside was a daring move. If that biker was a Santoro, he’d put himself within range of a few dozen armed men who would’ve been happy to dump him in the ground beside Dad. At first, I’d thought it was some kind of reckless gamble on his part, but no. He’d known exactly what he was doing.

Alessio scratched a bandage on his forearm. “Have you checked the traffic cams?”

“Yeah. We got a partial plate, but we’re still running it through the system.” Rom frowned and reached for his Coke. “I thought we’d have more by now, to be honest.”

“It’s only been a week,” Les said, peeling at the label on his beer.

“Week and a half,” Rom corrected. “The longer we have nothing, the colder the trail will get.”

My gaze drifted toward the rows of security monitors mounted on the wall. Rom had this entire place covered, including the VIP booth where Fabiana and her friends were currently getting shit-faced.

“We could get the capos involved,” Rom said. “Cast a wider net.”

Annoyance pulsed at my temples as I watched Fabi knock back another shot. Hadn’t she had enough by now? I’d counted five already. She and her friends were in the middle of a drinking game where she appeared to be doing ridiculous dares and taking a shot whether she completed them or not.

I’d watched her slip behind the bar and lean in too close to some long-haired bartender who’d held her gaze a second too long. He was unaware that tonight was his last shift.

I’d watched her talk a bunch of men into autographing her arm, every one of them far too pleased about it, and wondered why Messero’s bodyguards hadn’t knocked their teeth down their throats.

I’d even watched her climb into one of the cages hanging from the ceiling and put on a gyrating little show that made my cock ache and my mood turn foul.

Needless to say, I was on edge. My innocent Nettle turned into a fucking menace the second tequila hit her bloodstream.

“Earth to Cosimo. Are we having a conversation, or are you too distracted creeping on your fiancée?”

I tore my gaze from the screen. I wasn’t creeping on her. I was monitoring the goddamn situation. “We can’t involve the capos. If we do, it’ll get back to Vita. She already claims to know more than us, so the last thing I want is to give her insight into our investigation.”

“The capos are getting restless,” Alessio said, finishing the last of his beer. “They’ve got an itch that’ll only be scratched by vengeance.”

“I told them they need to stay focused on keeping the business running,” I muttered. They’d keep doing what they were told as long as they still believed me to be the next don. “The wedding should help with morale.”

“It will,” Rom said. “And it’ll send a message. Not just to our family, but to everyone watching—political contacts, business partners, the media.”

On the monitor, I saw Fabiana had just pulled another card from the stupid hat of dares I wanted to throw in the trash.

“You should take Fabiana out a few times in the next few weeks,” Rom was saying. “Somewhere public. Reinforce the alliance.”

I squinted at the screen. What now? Judging by her expression—and the way she was shaking the card at her friends in that tiny, furious fist—she was not pleased with whatever was written on it.

“Cosimo, seriously?”

I focused back on Rom. “Just taking a quick look.”

“You’ve been taking quick looks for the last two hours,” Alessio said.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Since you’ve suddenly developed ADHD, why don’t we just turn it off?” Rom reached for the remote on the table.

I snatched it before he could. Rom arched a brow.

My jaw clenched. “All of your suggestions depend on Fabiana actually making it to the wedding. Given her current state, I’m not confident she will. Look at her. She’s wasted. Someone’s got to keep an eye on her.”

“Yeah,” Rom said. “Which is why I have a security team. I also have the head of security in the room next door monitoring everything happening in my club.”

“He’s one guy with one pair of eyes,” I said. “He’s probably busy watching some drunken idiots start a fight. Who knows how much attention he’s actually paying to the VIP area?”

Alessio rubbed his thumb against his temple. “And the four bodyguards Messero sent with them are doing what exactly? Providing ambiance?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t know those guys. Who the fuck knows if they’re any good.”

Rom linked his hands behind his head. “Right. Messero definitely sent his precious wife, his sister, and her closest friends here under the protection of four useless pricks. Makes sense. Doesn’t it, Les?”

“Look, I’m tired. It’s almost three in the morning,” Alessio said with a yawn. “Are we having this meeting, or are we done? Because if we’re done, I’d like to go home and sleep.”

“We’re having the meeting,” I snapped. “What else?”

Rom rubbed his chin. “Lisa has all but disappeared off the face of the earth. If this biker guy doesn’t lead anywhere... It’s not looking good. We haven’t gotten any other leads on the Santoros.”

“What about Morales?” I asked. “He was taking money from them. He has to know something.”

“He’s in police custody right now,” Rom said, “which makes him somewhat inaccessible.”

Fabiana was still staring at that slip of paper, biting her bottom lip as if weighing her options. If she was thinking this hard in her current state, whatever was written on the card was probably going to make me homicidal.

Rom sighed. “Here we go again.”

I grabbed the remote and hit the zoom button, trying to make out the words on the paper. “I thought you said your equipment’s top of the line.” Top of the line my ass. The zoom either got stuck or the resolution went to shit. I couldn’t see a goddamn thing when the image was this grainy.

“Yeah, top of the line five years ago,” Rom said. “Should I remind you who refused my last budget proposal to upgrade the security system?”

That had probably been me. “Send it again.”

I switched to a different camera and tried to zoom in from another angle.

“You see this, Les? It’s all about managing costs until he wants to stalk his fiancée in HD.”

Now the goddamn button on the remote was stuck. I jammed my thumb into it until it popped back up.

Zoom. Just a little more.

The image blew up into dark, useless static. I tossed the remote down. “This is absurd.”

“What’s absurd is you expecting any security system to show you what’s written on a tiny piece of paper inside a fucking nightclub.” Rom got up and headed for the bar cart.

“She’s drunk,” I said. “Thanks to your girlfriend, by the way.”

Les yawned. “I think if anyone’s to blame, it’s the purple-haired one. She seems to be instigating most of this. What’s her name again?”

“Here.” Rom tried to hand me a tumbler of whiskey. “Have a drink. Relax.”

I waved him off. “I don’t want it.”

Hold on. What the fuck was she doing now?

I leaned closer to the screen.

Was I imagining it, or was she taking a selfie?

And not just any selfie. She was leaning forward, making her lips all pouty, giving the camera a look that she had no goddamn business giving anyone.

A hot, ugly feeling twisted low in my gut. She was my fiancée. Was she so drunk she’d forgotten that?

Rom took a sip of the whiskey he’d poured for me. “Interesting.”

My fists clenched. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

I watched her tap on her phone. Watched her flash it to her friends as proof she’d done the dare. Watched her move past them toward the bathroom, one of the guards trailing after her.

“What did that look like to you two?” I asked.

“Looked to me like your fiancée just sent someone a very sexy picture,” Rom drawled.

“Les?” I barked.

“I’m half asleep.” He headed for the door. “I’m going home. If you need somebody handled, send a text, and I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

No. He didn’t need to handle anyone.

I was going to handle whoever had gotten that photo myself.

Rosa had said there were no ex-boyfriends. When she’d downloaded the contents of Fabiana’s phone, she’d found a deactivated dating profile and a few messages that implied she’d gone on some dates a while back. Was it one of those guys?

We’d never discussed whether or not we could see other people while we were engaged and married, but I thought it was fucking obvious.

“Okay,” Rom said, sounding far too amused, “you need to take a deep breath.”

“You think this is funny? What the fuck is so funny?”

“Before you work yourself into a jealous rage, maybe check your phone. It buzzed a few moments ago.”

What?

I glanced around. “Where is it?”

Rom slid it across the table toward me. I snatched it up and unlocked the screen.

One message from Fabiana.

I opened it.

My anger vanished so fast it left me dizzy. I dragged my palm over my mouth and let out a low breath.

Fuck. Me.

For once, Nettle looked far from innocent. Her expression was sultry, her lips parted, and her tits— Fuck.

I zoomed in on the tiny sliver of black lace peeking out from under her dress and felt blood rush down.

My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before I hit save.

A moment later, the photo vanished from the chat. She’d deleted it.

Oh, she probably thought she was so fucking clever.

“Too late,” I typed.

Not smart, a voice inside my head advised. You agreed on certain rules for a reason.

Yeah, well, if tonight had confirmed anything, it was that we hadn’t established nearly enough of them, which meant we needed to have a conversation. And I wasn’t going to wait.

“I’m going downstairs,” I said, getting to my feet.

“Uh-huh,” Rom said. “So is the meeting over or…?”

I didn't bother answering him. Couldn’t. The sound of the door slamming behind me joined the pulsating beat of the music and my pounding heart.

CHAPTER 18

FABIANA

Too late.

I stared at the text, my mouth dry.

No. No, no, no.

The room tilted. Or maybe I did. The last tequila shot was hitting me all at once, and the bathroom counter was the only thing keeping me upright. I squinted at my phone, exited the app, reopened it, and clicked back into my chat with Cosimo, hoping the words might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying.

They didn’t.

The same message stared back at me.

Oh. My. God.

A hot wave of humiliation rushed up my neck. Why was he on his phone at three in the morning? Why wasn’t he asleep?

He probably thought I was the world’s biggest hypocrite. No, I won’t share a room with you, but sure, here, let me send you a sexy selfie completely unprompted.

So much for treating this like a job. Jobs were supposed to be clean. This? This was messy.

A groan clawed its way out of me. Why did I think this was a good plan? All for a prize that Zo hadn’t even given me.

The bathroom door swung open, and a few giggling girls stumbled in. I had to get back out there before one of the bodyguards waiting outside started to get worried. I also needed to figure out some kind of response to send to Cosimo. Something cool. Something normal.

I brushed past the girls and pushed out into the hall, my eyes still glued to the screen as I tried to think. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the bodyguard standing at the end of the hall. My head swam. I was still trying to compose my response as I moved past him.

He stopped me with a firm grip on my arm.

“What’s going⁠—”

The question died on my tongue. I wasn’t looking at the bodyguard.

I was looking at Cosimo.

And he looked pissed.

Mortification wrapped around my throat. “What are you doing here?” I whispered, slurring slightly and blinking a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

Nope. He was definitely here.

He stepped closer, his eyes turbulent and dark. “Taking you home.”

“What?” I tried to yank my arm free and failed. “No, you’re not. I’m here with my friends.”

“They’ve got a car and a driver. They’ll be fine.”

“And I won’t be? Where’s the bodyguard?”

His narrow gaze pierced through me. “He’s been dismissed. You’ve had too much to drink. Judging by the picture you sent me, you can’t handle it.”

My entire face went hot. “You weren’t supposed to see it.”

“You gambled on deleting it before I checked my phone. It was a bad gamble.”

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Yeah, ’cause I work a fucking nine-to-five.”

The girls from the bathroom spilled into the hallway and squeezed past us. Cosimo pulled me into him without warning, and suddenly, there was no space left between us at all.

He was so warm. So sturdy. His cologne filled my next breath, and I melted against him.

A heavy, drunken haze rolled through me. I shook my head, and my forehead pressed against his chest. “How are you even here right now? Did you teleport?”

“I was upstairs meeting with Les and Rom.” His response was gruff, but he didn’t sound angry anymore. His thumb brushed over my biceps, back and forth, spreading goosebumps over my skin.

A sudden tiredness gripped me. “I think I do want to go home.”

He moved his hand to my lower back. “C’mon.”

The floor tilted beneath me. I couldn’t take a single step without wobbling.

Cosimo pulled me into his side, his palm firmly on my hip. “Christ, Nettle. Do I need to carry you out?”

My cheek brushed against his chest. More of his scent. More of his heat. “Nettle?” I mumbled. “Like the mug?”

“Yeah. Like the mug.”

A smile tugged at my mouth. “I like it.”

The walk out to his car was a blur. By the time the world came back into focus, we were already driving.

Nausea churned low in my stomach. I pressed my temple to the cool glass of the window and let out a miserable sound.

A bottle of water appeared in front of me. “Drink.”

I took a tentative sip.

“Can you keep yourself together for the thirty minutes it takes to get to your brother’s house?”

“I hope so.”

He muttered something under his breath. Then more clearly, he said, “When was the last time you drank this much, Fabiana?”

“Never.” I placed the bottle into the cup holder between us. “Never ever.”

“Your friends shouldn’t have been pouring alcohol down your throat.”

“They weren’t,” I insisted. I had to defend the girls’ honor. “If I’d told them I wanted to stop, they wouldn’t have offered me another shot.” I shut my eyes again. “My next bachelorette will definitely be a lot more chill.”

A beat passed.

“Your next bachelorette?”

“Yeah. The one before my real wedding.”

“Already planning your second marriage?”

“Just in the abstract. I have to find a man to marry first.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Where do you plan on finding him?”

I blinked at the storefronts sliding past outside the window, my eyelids heavy. “I don’t know. I was thinking about going back to school after we’re done. Getting a master’s degree in art, or something more practical, like curatorial studies.”

“That’s practical?”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I’ll meet him in one of my classes. I think a shared interest is a good foundation for a relationship.”

“Yeah?” His voice was dry. “You want to go to museums with him and discuss the meaning of unfinished paintings?”

“That sounds nice.”

“Hmm. And what other qualities would this ideal male specimen have?”

I eyed him. Why did he sound so irritated? “He’d be nice. And gentle. The kind of guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

His jaw moved.

“And calm,” I went on, observing him as I did. “Someone who doesn’t need to control everything all the time. Someone who listens.”

He scoffed.

“What?” I asked.

“He sounds just like you.”

“So?”

“You’d be bored.”

I frowned. “Why would that be boring?”

“Because there’s a reason people say opposites attract.”

At once, my mind betrayed me. A velvet box pressed against my chest. Large hands, warm and sure, handling me with expert ease while the camera clicked. The dark hallway at Black Silk, the two of us pressed together so closely that to anyone watching, we must’ve looked like lovers.

Want, hot and foolish, dripped into my bloodstream, then a wave of nausea washed it away.

I slapped my palm over my mouth.

Cosimo glanced at me.

I pointed weakly at the windshield.

“Fuck.” He pulled over fast. The moment the car stopped, I shoved the door open and stumbled out into the cold night air. I barely made it a few steps before I bent over and threw up into the gutter.

A second wave hit before I could recover. This time, I felt him behind me—his hand gathering my hair off my neck, the other steadying me as his jacket settled over my shoulders. The gesture was so unexpectedly gentle it made the whole thing somehow worse.

By the time it passed, my eyes were watering, and every inch of me felt wrung out. I stayed bent over for a second, breathing hard, then I slowly straightened. The night air was freezing against my skin, but his jacket was warm and heavy with the scent of him.

“Done?”

I nodded. I couldn’t speak. My bottom lip wobbled as humiliation burned through me.

He handed me the bottle again. “Rinse your mouth.”

I did. I was the most disgusting person in the world.

“We need to get some food in you.”

He got me back into the car, and I shut my eyes.

When I opened them again, we’d stopped at a twenty-four-hour diner not far from Rafe’s house. Cosimo got out, came around, and pulled me from the car.

I didn’t say a word as we walked inside.

The place was nearly empty, all harsh overhead lights and the smell of grease. A tired waitress in a blue apron barely glanced up when we slid into a booth by the window.

Cosimo ordered for me.

I rested my forehead on top of my hands while we waited. The vinyl seat was sticky beneath my legs. The pounding in my head had begun to dull. I was sobering up with each passing minute, which only made me appreciate just how thoroughly I’d embarrassed myself tonight.

Across from me, Cosimo said nothing, but I could feel his gaze on me. Judging me, most likely. If he thought I wasn’t built to be a don’s wife prior to this, I was sure tonight had cemented it. I knew the six-month term hadn’t been only for my benefit. He probably thought he’d be able to find someone far more suitable once we were done.

The burger and fries arrived.

“Slow down,” Cosimo said as I scarfed it down.

Tentatively, I met his gaze. There was more sympathy in it than I’d expected. “Hungry,” I said between bites.

“I can tell.”

I swallowed and took another fry.

“Have you been here before?” I asked once I was full.

He shook his head.

“Guess you don’t find yourself taking care of drunk women often, huh?”

His jaw flexed. “Not usually.”

The overhead lights were unkind to everyone else in the diner, but somehow, they only sharpened his cheekbones and the dark slash of his brows.

Attraction flickered through me. I looked back down at my plate. “Well. Sorry to ruin your streak.”

Outside, the air was cold enough to clear the last of the fog from my head. He held my elbow as we walked back to the car, as if he didn’t trust me not to stumble.

I climbed into the passenger seat and flipped down the visor mirror, wincing at my reflection. I looked every bit as disheveled as I felt.

Cosimo slid into the driver’s seat while I settled my purse on my lap and reached for the clasp, intending to dig out my lipstick. It wasn’t going to perform miracles, but it might make me feel slightly more put together.

The bag felt oddly swollen beneath my hands.

I frowned. The clasp was stretched tight, as though something inside was pressing against it. I worked my thumb beneath the metal fastening and popped it open.

The purse exploded.

Tiny plastic penises sprang into the air in every direction. They bounced off my lap, scattered across the floor mat, rolled beneath the dashboard and into the dark space between the seats. One ricocheted off the console and landed squarely on Cosimo’s thigh.

“Oh my God,” I squeaked out.

The car went very still.

Cosimo looked at his thigh. Then at me. Then at the slow-motion avalanche of miniature dicks still tumbling from my purse, and something moved across his face. Amusement?

Among the cascade of male genitalia, a folded note fluttered out and landed near the gearshift.

“No—” I grasped for it, but Cosimo was faster.

He snatched it up one-handed and held it out of reach. I twisted toward him, half crawling over the console in my attempt to grab it back.

“Wait!” I gasped. I was almost certain it was from Zo, and God only knew what she’d written.

He trapped the note between his teeth, caught both my wrists before I could make another grab, and pinned them above my head against the seat with one hand. He pulled the note from his mouth, unfolded it with a flick of his wrist, and began to read aloud.

“Congratulations, bride-to-be. You’ve officially won a bag of dicks. Just kidding. Your real prize is hopefully the orgasm the Ice Prince will give you on your wedding night now that you’ve gotten him all worked up and ready to go with that little photo. Love and kisses, Zo.”

My chest heaved with frantic breaths. Kill me. Please, someone, just kill me.

He released my wrists and dropped the note into the console. The car filled with a silence so thick it seemed to press against my skin.

“I’m— I really—” I tried to find the rest of that sentence and couldn’t. “Um.”

“Eloquent.”

There were so many things to apologize for. The list itself was paralyzing. I glanced down at all the penises. “I’ll clean all of this up, I swear.”

“Is that what you call me? The Ice Prince?”

“No.” I shook my head. “She made that up.”

“Bold of her.”

“She’s like that. She gives everyone nicknames.” I could hear myself talking too fast. “It doesn’t mean⁠—”

“I meant putting me on the hook for your prize.”

I went still. “You’re not. I mean, of course not. As discussed, we’re not doing that. No one’s giving anyone orgasms in this marriage.”

He drew his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and placed his hands on the wheel. Without another word, he began to drive.

I bit my nails and tried to stay very still. Every time I moved, I felt one of the micropenises sliding under my thigh.

Awful. Just awful.

When we were almost at Rafe’s, I forced myself to be a grown-up. “I’m sorry, Cosimo. I was a mess tonight. Thanks for taking care of me.” He had. And not even as begrudgingly as I would’ve expected.

He didn’t respond. He just stared through the windshield as we drove through the gate and parked.

His silence was starting to freak me out. “Are you very mad?”

“What would I be mad about?”

“The photo, for a start?”

He considered this the way he seemed to consider most things—without urgency and without giving anything away.

“In my defense, we never discussed rules regarding pictures.”

“You wanna send me more?”

“That’s not— No.” My cheeks burned, along with the bewildering awareness that he might be flirting with me.

He cut the engine. “You’re right. We didn’t discuss photos. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

He swiped his palm over the side of his jaw. “I think I’m developing an appreciation for photography.”

I stared at him, shocked. The air in the car sparked.

“Oh.” My voice came out higher than I intended.

“Turns out we didn’t discuss a lot of things.” He reached across the console and wrapped his palm around my forearm. His thumb brushed over the autographs I’d collected. “Including things like this.” His eyes came up to mine. “If you’re going to have any man’s name on you,” he said quietly, “it had better be mine.”

His words filled my stomach with a traitorous flock of butterflies.

A silvery glint caught my eye. There was a metallic pen in the console.

Maybe it was the tequila still humming in my bloodstream. Maybe it was the heat gathering in his gaze. Or maybe it was the way he’d handled me tonight—gently and considerately, out of character for a man who had once seemed incapable of being either.

Suddenly, I craved a different kind of thrill.

The pen felt cold and solid between my fingers as I picked it up and held it out to him. “Then write it.”

His gaze darkened. A second passed before he took it. His expression wasn’t so impartial anymore.

“Not here.” He released my arm and set his palm against my bare thigh.

My pulse skittered low inside my body.

Slowly, he drew my leg toward him. The hem of my skirt rode higher with the movement, but he didn’t stop there. He touched the tip of the pen to my thigh and traced it upward, guiding the fabric out of his way with maddening patience.

Finally, he paused. Another inch, and he would be able to see my panties.

Moving his hand in firm, unhurried strokes, he wrote out each letter.

BELONGS TO COSIMO FERRARO.

As he pressed in the period, the side of his hand brushed right over the apex of my thighs. Pleasure sparked at the point of contact, and I bit back a gasp that threatened to spill out.

He capped the pen and dropped it back into the console.

“There.” His voice was low.

I was so hot all over. Feverish.

His gaze was pitch-black as he lifted his thumb to the corner of my mouth and drew it across my lower lip—once, slowly, like he wanted to learn the shape of it and intended to remember it. “Get some sleep, Nettle. Maybe you’ll dream of your nice future husband.”

I did dream that night. But it wasn’t about a nice man with gentle hands and a shared passion for art history.

It was about a quiet scoff in a dark car, and two words I couldn’t stop turning over.

Opposites attract.

CHAPTER 19

FABIANA

The next few days passed in a flash until there was nothing left to plan, no decisions to make, no RSVPs to count.

The only thing left was to get married.

We were about to board Rafe’s private jet and fly to the wedding venue in upstate New York. Elena, who’d arrived from Geneva late last night, dropped into the empty seat beside me and handed me a muffin she’d taken from the breakfast buffet in the corner. “Try this. I’m obsessed.”

We were sitting in the small private lounge, waiting for the pilot’s go-ahead. Cleo was on my other side, engrossed in a copy of Vogue, with Yeti asleep in her lap. Rafe sat in an armchair across from us, talking on the phone in a hushed tone to one of his men.

I bit into the muffin. “Yum. But I shouldn’t have any more sugar.” I handed it back to her. “I’m already jittery, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse the closer we get to the ceremony.”

Elena frowned. “Are you afraid of him?”

“What? Who?”

“Cosimo.”

My eyes widened. “No. Why would I be?”

Elena’s lips pursed. “Because guys like him—the ones at the very top—they think they can do anything. And once you’re married, Rafe’s not going to intervene if things go sideways.”

Beside me, Cleo stiffened.

“He’s not like Dad,” I said sharply, annoyance pulsing at my temples. Elena always assumed the worst.

“How do you know? You’ve basically just met him.”

“I know him well enough.”

“Rafe used to hate him until they went into business together. Don’t you remember? He used to call him a stuck-up ass.”

“And what do you think the Ferraros called Rafe? I doubt it was anything flattering.”

We glared at each other for a beat before her expression softened.

She was worried. Immediately, guilt nudged at me.

I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be fine with him. I can see why Rafe called him stuck up. He is. Also stubborn and bossy. But he can be…surprisingly gentle. And protective.”

Cleo lowered the Vogue to her lap, not even bothering to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping on our conversation.

Elena looked thoughtful for a long moment. “Then why are you jittery?”

I laughed. “Elena, I have to kiss a very attractive man for the first time in front of two hundred and eighty guests. Isn’t it self-explanatory?”

Her shoulders lowered. She gave me a crooked smile. “Seriously? You haven’t kissed yet?”

“No, we haven’t.” But that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it. Extensively. Especially over the last week.

I’d seen Cosimo in passing a few times since the bachelorette. He’d come over to Rafe’s house to discuss business, and each time I’d seen him, the place where he’d written those letters on the inside of my thigh had flared hot.

My attraction to him had always been annoyingly stubborn, but ever since that night, it had progressed to something worse. I was sure I could keep it under wraps for six months if I thought it was one-sided.

But it didn’t feel that one-sided anymore.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Cleo said as she gave Yeti a scratch under his chin. “If you freeze up, I guarantee he’ll take the lead.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just a kiss. It’s not like I haven’t kissed anyone before.”

“It’ll probably just be a quick little thing for the audience,” Elena said. “A peck.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, feigning relief, even though that description filled me with faint disappointment.

My phone buzzed.

“Mail. New message from concerned.about.fabiana@icloud.com Subject: URGENT.”

I frowned at the screen. It was probably spam, but since when did spam emails include your name in the address?

I opened it.

One glance, and the phone slipped out of my hand.

I lunged to catch it before it hit the floor and nearly knocked over my coffee in the process.

“You are jittery. Here.” Elena lifted the coffee from my hand and replaced it with a bottle of water. “Enough of that, or you’ll have a midday crash. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Right, of course.”

“Maybe you should try to take a nap on the flight,” she advised.

I used that as the perfect excuse to disappear to the back of the plane as soon as we’d taken off. I climbed under the covers of the double bed and pulled my phone out while everyone else settled in at the front. Blanket up to my chin, I lay like a kid hiding from a nightmare.

The photo stared back at me.

It had been taken at Rom’s club. Cosimo stood beside a woman, his arm draped around her waist, his palm resting possessively over her hip. The same way he’d held me when he’d walked me out of that same club. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t put a finger on where I’d seen her before.

The body of the email said, “Ask him about Rosa. A husband and a wife shouldn’t have any secrets.”

My grip tightened on the phone.

Who was Rosa? The answer felt obvious enough. A woman he’d been seeing. If the date in the corner of the photo was right, it had been taken just days before I returned to New York. Just days before he handed me my engagement ring.

He’d kept seeing her after our match had been made.

I tossed the phone across the bed. A cocktail of anger and hurt surged through my veins.

It doesn’t matter. This thing between you isn’t real.

Sure, the photo was taken before we’d even met, but we’d still been engaged at the time. The moment Rafe told me the contract had been signed, I’d committed to Cosimo in my own mind. When my boss had asked me out in Geneva, the first reason I’d thought of for saying no was the fact that I was engaged. I wasn’t available.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Elena was right. Men in our world did this all the time. They demanded total loyalty from their wives while holding themselves to no such standard. Growing up, I’d watched my aunts blame themselves when their husbands strayed. “I’ve gained too much weight. I look too old. I need to try harder.”

I wasn’t going to do that.

Cosimo had decided to disrespect our match even before he’d spoken to me for the first time. He went out with someone in public, where people could see him and take pictures, after our engagement had already been finalized. For once, I wasn’t going to turn inward and ask what I’d done wrong. If there was anyone at fault here, it was him.

I let the anger burn for the duration of the flight. It was good I’d seen the photo. Useful. It would keep me from slipping into the softer, stupider feelings I’d been toying with. I had no idea who would’ve gone through the trouble of making that email address to send it to me, but as far as I was concerned, they’d done me a favor.

By the time we piled into an SUV and Elena placed her hand on my knee and gave it an encouraging squeeze, the fire had gone out and turned into something colder. Harder.

I knew what I had to do. What this deal dictated. I could play the role of the obedient wife, the role for which I’d been chosen right from the get-go.

And I wasn’t going to allow myself to get confused about Cosimo again.

Just a deal.

I stood in front of the mirror in the bridal suite while my friends buzzed around me in a blur of movement, finishing their makeup, fixing their hair, and hunting for shoes.

Well, I sure looked the part. The woman reflected back at me in the mirror wore a wedding dress with long lace sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. A voluminous A-line skirt. A diamond necklace that came alive in the light.

I tried on a smile, practicing for the guests and the cameras. I suppose I looked happy enough.

That is, if you didn’t look too closely at my eyes.

I stepped toward the window. Snow fell in slow, lazy spirals outside. Below, guests were trickling into the church. The wedding was taking place on the grounds of a farmhouse, but the church was a proper Catholic one with a tower stretching toward the sky and arches of stained glass inside.

Mia came up beside me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

It was. But I couldn’t focus on the beauty. I couldn’t focus on anything but the image of the photo that was burned into the backs of my eyelids.

I needed to clear my head. “I’m going to get some air,” I said, grabbing a shawl.

“I’ll come with you,” Mia offered.

“I just want a few minutes alone.”

As soon as the door of the bridal suite closed behind me, I let out a breath.

And then I ran.

The hallway wasn’t very long. In mere seconds, I burst out onto the balcony at the end of it. Cold air bit into my skin. My palms hit the wet wooden railing. The shawl slipped down my shoulders, and I let it fall all the way to the floor where a thin layer of snow struggled to survive.

I had never loved the cold the way I did right then. It was a balm against my frazzled nerves and the ache that refused to leave my chest.

Calm down. Just six months. Remember why you’re doing this.

I was doing this to free myself from the shackles of duty, so that I’d never have to marry a man like Cosimo again.

A man who lied, cheated, and put men far less dangerous than him in the hospital.

The door creaked open behind me. Somehow, I sensed who it was before I even turned.

Cosimo stood in the doorway, and I could tell from the faint surprise in his expression that he hadn’t expected to find me here.

His hand stayed on the door handle for a moment, as if he was trying to decide how to proceed. And then he made his decision and stepped fully onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.

His gaze drifted over my wedding dress. For once, there was nothing dispassionate about the way he looked at me. Something hungry, almost greedy, ran behind his eyes.

I shivered, and not from the cold.

He wore a tux, his hair brushed back from his face, a white pocket square sticking out. The sight of him in that suit wasn’t for the weak. If I’d seen him in it earlier this morning, my stomach would’ve likely filled with idiotic butterflies.

Now, they lay dead in the pit of my belly.

He swiped his thumb over his jaw. “White looks good on you.”

When I stayed silent, expressionless, his gaze narrowed. He stepped closer, picked my shawl off the ground, and handed it to me. “Having second thoughts?”

It sounded like a joke, but the tightness in his voice gave him away. He was afraid I’d bolt. He needed this more than I did.

His head tilted slightly when I gave him a cool smile. I opened the message on my phone and tossed the fucking thing at him. “I got an interesting email this morning.”

He caught it in one hand and frowned. His gaze lingered on my face a few moments before he looked down at the screen.

A single beat. That’s all it took for him to piece it together. I could see the realization dawn on his expression, and there was a notable lack of surprise there.

He knew exactly what he was looking at.

He handed the phone back. “You’re angry.”

“What made you think that?” I asked. “I just wanted you to know someone’s trying to get you in trouble.”

“It appears they succeeded.”

I laughed. “I’m not going to bolt, Cosimo. Not over receiving confirmation of what I’d already realized long ago.”

“Which is?”

“We’re an awful match. I could never spend a lifetime with a cheater. Good thing I won’t have to.”

His jaw clenched. “It’s not what it looks like.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

“She and I were never really together.”

I lifted my palms. “Look, I really, really don’t care.”

I began to move past him. His hand shot out and clamped around my forearm. “Fabiana.”

“Let go of me.”

His hand stayed. “You’re obviously upset.”

“Not at all. Maybe I would be if this was still a real engagement, but it’s not. It’s just a transaction. I would’ve preferred some discretion on your part though.”

I could tell he didn’t like how I was reacting. Was he hoping that I’d break down in tears and demand he promise me this wouldn’t happen again?

When I first came back to New York, he’d been determined to do the bare minimum when it came to our engagement. He’d treated it like a job he hadn’t signed up for that he begrudgingly had to do.

Maybe that was the attitude I needed to have. I already thought of this as a job, but for some reason, I’d defaulted to wanting to do it well.

Why bother when I could also skate by doing the bare minimum?

“So just to be clear, for the next six months, I assume we’re both good with sleeping with other people if we’re discreet about it, right?”

His gaze grew very dark. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because in less than an hour, you’ll be my goddamn wife.”

“Your fake wife,” I spat out.

“You seem to be confused.” He stepped closer, one hand still locked around my arm as the other rose to cup my jaw. “Fake or not, for the next six months, you’re mine.”

Anger pulsed inside me even as my skin came alive beneath his touch.

“Those words I wrote on you—are they still there?”

I glared at him as I shook my head. “I washed them off that night.” Lie. I’d scrubbed off the signatures on my arm until my skin had gone pink, but his words had merely gotten a rinse.

Three days. That’s how long his claim on me had stayed.

“That’s too bad.” He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing against my own. “Maybe I’ll get them tattooed on you instead.”

“Only to have to pay for their removal in six months? I thought you despised frivolous spending.”

“You won’t let another man touch you unless you want him dead. That’s not a bluff, Nettle.”

I gave him a cold smile. “Fine. I guess I’ll have the rest of my life for that.”

Planting my palms against his chest, I pushed him away. “Most of the guests have already arrived. I’ll see you at the altar.”

I walked back inside and didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 20

COSIMO

There wasn’t a single free seat in the church. Ferraros on the left. Messeros on the right. The two sides of the pews were split by the red-carpeted aisle like a bloody gash.

Mother sat in the front row beside my brothers, her head held high and her hands folded demurely in her lap. There was no way I could’ve kept her from showing up today. Rescinding the invite of a late don’s wife—to her own son’s wedding—was unthinkable. There were certain rules of respect when it came to family that had to be observed.

Until I became don, I had to tread carefully.

Mother met my gaze, and a small smirk pulled on her lips. She was so confident she finally had me cornered.

I should’ve seen it coming.

The wedding was the perfect opportunity for Mother to try to land a blow, and she wouldn’t be Vita if she didn’t take advantage of it. I didn’t doubt she was the one who’d sent that photo to Fabiana.

She would love it if Fabiana ran today, on the day of the ceremony. If she left me standing alone at the altar. It would turn the wedding into my personal humiliation.

How can a man who can’t even control his fiancée control the Ferraros? I could hear her taunt.

Much to Mother’s disappointment, that wasn’t going to happen. Fabiana wouldn’t walk away from the promise of freedom over a single photo.

I’d outmaneuvered Mother by making a deal with Fabiana.

That should’ve calmed me. But I didn’t feel all that fucking calm as I stood at the altar waiting for my bride to appear. Instead, a strange weight throbbed inside my chest.

Fabiana said she didn’t care about the photo, but she was as transparent as cellophane. She cared. She cared so much she’d tried the oldest trick in my own book—to shove all those feelings deep, deep down and let them fester.

So what if she was pissed? For once, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t cheated on her. I kissed Rosa once when we first started our charade, and that was long before I even knew Fabiana existed. I told myself I cared because we needed to maintain an image of unity, and a pissed-off bride on her wedding day wasn’t exactly in line with that, but deep down, I knew it was more than that.

I’d already learned I couldn’t stay angry at her when she was drunk and vulnerable. Now, I was learning I really didn’t fucking like it when she was quietly furious with me.

I tugged on my sleeves and rolled my shoulders. The priest shifted beside me, the Bible clutched in his hands. I glanced at my watch. Fabiana was a minute late.

I’d told her as much as I could. Telling her more would have meant sharing one of my most closely held secrets.

Yet, something gnawed at me like a starving dog worrying a bone.

I hadn’t cheated on her. But it bothered me that she thought I did.

The audience hushed as the organ began to play “Ave Maria.” The sound rose through the air, and my breath hitched.

Momentarily, every thought about politics and succession evaporated.

I’d seen her in that dress already. I had a moment to come to terms with how magnificent she looked. I thought I could handle it.

But I hadn’t prepared for the veil.

It caught the light from the open door behind her and softened her outline so that she looked like an angelic apparition.

She and Messero walked toward me. Well, Messero walked. She floated. Light snagged on the embroidery of her dress, making her shimmer like something divine—a kind of mirage one might see when praying for salvation from their sins.

My heartbeat was everywhere—in my throat, in my palms, at the base of my skull.

When they reached me, Messero squeezed her hand and stepped aside.

I lifted the veil.

The tulle fell back, and her face appeared—radiant and so fucking beautiful it made it difficult to breathe.

But her eyes were pure ice.

Inside me, something withered and squirmed. I looked down at her from my height and wondered how someone as small as her could have so much power over me.

The priest began the ceremony.

There would be no carefully crafted vows. Just us repeating a script countless others had said before us while standing in this very place.

“I promise to cherish and to hold you. I promise to take care of you when you’re ill.”

When the priest got to the part about being faithful, Fabiana’s lips twitched. The disdain with which she watched me as I said the words I actually did fucking mean made me want to shake her.

How would she react if I told her everything? That my relationship with Rosa was faker than this marriage. That the last time I’d held a woman’s hair while she puked was never. That I hadn’t touched anyone in three goddamn years—and hadn’t wanted to…until she came along.

She wouldn’t believe me.

I slid the wedding ring onto her steady hand. She did the same—briskly, transactionally. God, was I starting to hate that word.

“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest’s fond smile told me the man was completely ignorant of the palpable, suffocating tension between us.

Slowly, Fabiana tilted her face up. She exhaled like she was bracing herself to do something unpleasant.

Frustration ran through my veins.

Just kiss her and move on.

But seconds ticked by, and I just… I just fucking couldn’t.

I didn’t want to take this kiss like something that was owed to me.

I wanted her to give it to me. Willingly.

It made no sense. I knew that. But I wasn’t going to kiss this woman for the first time like this.

I cupped her cheek and leaned in, bringing my lips close to her ear. “Rosa works for me. She’s a con artist,” I whispered. Each word cost me something. Years of secrecy. Countless hours of pretending. “No one else knows.”

A beat.

Then softly, “What?”

When I pulled back, Fabiana’s brows were drawn together in confusion.

I flicked a glance toward the audience. People were starting to look at us curiously. “Later,” I said under my breath.

“Then why tell me now?” she whispered.

I turned my hand and brushed my knuckles over her cheek, hoping the audience would confuse this for a tender moment shared between two fools in love. “Because I’m not a cheater, Fabiana. And I don’t want you to kiss me thinking that I am.”

The ice in her gaze thawed. Softness crept into her expression, and…there she was.

The Nettle I recognized.

Something inside me rejoiced.

I pushed my fingers into her hair and drew her to me, eating up the inches between us. “You understand?”

Closer, closer…

Her lips were a millimeter from mine. I held her there and waited for her to say it.

She exhaled. “Yes.”

The moment those luscious fucking lips touched mine, the church around us shattered right out of my perception. My every nerve ending lit up as if I’d been injected with a drug.

Warmth trailed through my insides, coaxing dormant parts of me awake, to stand at attention. I groaned into her open mouth and pushed my tongue inside. She sighed. Something came loose right beneath my ribs.

I kissed her with more fervor than I’d intended, more than I’d prepared for, more than I had any strategic justification for, and for a long moment, there was nothing at all except the warmth of her mouth and the entirely unreasonable feeling that I had just walked through a door I’d spent years bricking shut.

I felt her hand on my lapel. Felt her pull me closer, and… Christ.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I moved on autopilot, needing to taste her like I’d never fucking needed anything else.

It was only Rom’s loud whistle that pulled me back to the church and all the people here. Watching us. Watching me lose control.

I tore myself away from her.

She stared at me. Stunned. Lips wet from the kiss, hair mussed from my hands, and just seeing her like that made my body thrum with an energy that felt too potent to be healthy.

She was a lethal threat to my careful, hard-earned self-control.

And she was my wife.

CHAPTER 21

FABIANA

Applause echoed against the walls of the cathedral. Camera shutters clicked from somewhere nearby. Children laughed as they threw handfuls of rice at the aisle.

But I barely heard them. All of my attention was glued to the man beside me.

My husband.

Cosimo’s hand was wrapped around mine, his grip tight and commanding as he pulled me down the aisle and out of the church.

Snow was still falling outside, dissolving the moment it touched the dark, wet stone path leading toward the reception hall. The air smelled almost like spring.

I was still fighting to find my breath after that kiss.

I should’ve kissed him the night of the bachelorette. When his hand was on my thigh, and his gaze kept drifting to my lips. Then I could’ve blamed this response on the alcohol in my system.

There was nothing to blame now. Nothing to justify the way that kiss had splintered me into a million tiny pieces that I was still trying to frantically collect.

I shot him a glance. His jaw was tight, his brows drawn. And yet, when he looked back at me, his eyes were as wild and wanting as I imagined mine to be.

A sinking feeling filled my gut. This chemistry between us wasn’t going to lead anywhere good.

The second we stepped inside the banquet hall, I stopped short. “We need to talk.”

He looked past me, toward the glass doors where the wedding planner and photographer were hurrying to catch up. I didn’t care. I was not about to sit through dinner pretending everything was normal while wondering what the hell he’d meant at the altar.

I pulled him around the corner and yanked open the first door we encountered. It was a walk-in storage closet. I shoved him inside and shut the door behind me.

Something rattled. I patted against the wall at my back. “Where’s the light?”

Click.

The light flicked on. Cosimo’s elbow hovered by my face, and his hand was wrapped around a cord suspended from the ceiling.

“Here.”

The room was barely a room at all. Just a narrow storage closet lined with shelves stacked with extra linens, candles, and boxes of serving ware. There was just enough space for the two of us.

He took up the majority of it.

So did the memory of that kiss.

“What the fuck, Cos? You didn’t need to kiss me like that.” Maybe if I pretended to be irritated, he’d miss the way my hands were still trembling.

His gaze skimmed over my mouth. “You think you’d get one of my most closely guarded secrets in exchange for a peck?” A dry, frustrated laugh left him. “It needed to look real, Nettle.”

It didn’t just look real. It had felt real.

I swallowed. “Why would you hire a fake girlfriend?”

He swiped his palm over his lapel. By now I knew he only did that when he was nervous. “Long story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

“Haven’t I told you enough?”

“No. Fake girlfriend, fake wife… I mean, Jesus. Are you completely incapable of having a real relationship?”

“Not even my brothers know about Rosa. What else do you want from me?”

“I want to know why.”

He clicked his tongue and reached for the door handle. I swatted his hand away. “I’m not letting you go out there until you tell me.”

A frustrated breath. “Pretending to be together meant I could bring Rosa into the right rooms. She’s good at getting information.”

“She spied for you?”

“Yeah.”

It hit me then. “It was her. The woman at the restaurant.”

He gave me a grim nod.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Three years.”

“Three years? Didn’t it make it harder for you to actually date?”

“I had no desire to date anyone. That was the other perk of our arrangement. It kept the risk contained.”

I frowned. “What risk?”

A second passed. Another. If every word out of him so far had been like pulling teeth, we’d now hit the wisdom tooth.

His jaw clenched, and for the first time since we’d walked in here, his gaze left mine and dropped to his feet.

Whatever it was, he really didn’t want to tell me.

I bit on my bottom lip. Something here didn’t add up. Why wouldn’t he tell his brothers Rosa was a spy for him? That didn’t seem like information so sensitive he had to hide it from them.

But whatever his reason for that was, he obviously didn’t want to share it with me. Should I force him to tell me? I could. I’d never held more power over him than I did here. Now. All it would take was me threatening to cause a scene, and he’d fold. He’d have no choice.

But I didn’t want to cross a line like that. I knew that if the roles were reversed, I’d despise him for it.

I exhaled a pent-up breath. “Fine. Don’t want to tell me? Don’t.”

He looked up. Something raw and vulnerable flashed inside those dark-blue eyes. He shifted on his feet, and the small movement was enough to bring us chest to chest in this tiny space.

My gaze snagged on his bottom lip. The longer we stayed here, the more bad ideas I was starting to get.

I reached behind me and found the door handle.

He wrapped his hand around mine before I could turn it. I pressed my back against the door, fighting for slivers of space. He was so close that he filled my entire field of view. Everywhere. He was everywhere.

His lips lowered close to my ear. “Vita convinced my past girlfriends to snoop through my shit. Give her information. Spy on me.”

A beat. He let go of my hand and shifted back.

Shock wrapped a claw around my lungs. “What? Why would she do that? You and her are on the same side.”

His laugh was bitter. “My mother likes to be in control even more than I do, Fabiana. She wants to know everything happening inside this family. I made a decision to put a woman on my arm who couldn’t be bought by Vita because we already had an arrangement worked out. One who knew that if she betrayed me, she’d die. Vita hated that she couldn’t get through to Rosa the way she’d gotten through to all the rest.”

I swallowed. My mind raced as I tried to piece it together. “How did she do it?”

“Found what they wanted. Gave it to them. Money. Fame. Favors. Everyone had something.”

“Everyone?”

“Every. Single. One. Even the last blonde I picked up at a bar three years ago and fucked that same night. Caught her snooping through my phone when I went to take a piss. Vita had planted her there for me.”

My horror felt like a living, breathing thing. No wonder Cosimo was distrustful. His own mother had engineered the conditions for it. “Three years ago. You haven’t been with anyone else for three years?”

A muscle in his jaw fluttered. “No one.”

I couldn’t hold back my gasp. That was impossible. Or it should have been. Men like Cosimo did not go three years without touching anyone. “Rosa⁠—”

“She doesn’t like men. It was one of the many reasons I chose her—she wouldn’t get any ideas.”

He wasn’t lying. I could see it in the wariness behind his eyes, in the way his mouth tightened slightly after he said it, as if he already regretted telling me.

Inside me, my heart pounded. Hard. “Did you think Vita would use me too?”

The answer was written all over his face before he said a word.

And suddenly, a dozen things clicked into place. The way he’d warned me she’d charm me. The way he’d seemed certain I would run to her for help. Maybe even the reason he’d insisted I handle the wedding planning myself.

He’d thought I’d fall for it. Become a player in her twisted game.

I couldn’t even fault him for it. How could I when I’d just learned that every woman who got close to him had once been another pair of eyes reporting back to his mother? If Vita had gotten through to all of them, she probably would have gotten through to me eventually.

“I would never have been okay with anyone she chose for me, Fabiana.”

Of course he wouldn’t have been. Not because he was stubborn like she’d made it seem, but because anyone she touched turned into a weapon against him.

I’d made Cosimo the villain of my story. But he had his own villain to overcome.

His gaze moved over my face and then dropped to my lips again, slower this time. Deliberate.

Heat curled low in my stomach.

Was he thinking about the kiss?

Was he wondering if it would feel the same here without an audience, in this cramped little room that smelled faintly of starch and dust and candles?

I was.

“You done with the interrogation?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. It felt like I’d swallowed my tongue. Through the door, I could hear people chattering. The guests had arrived.

Cosimo planted a palm against the door beside my head. “They’ll think we’re having a fight if they see us coming out looking like this.” His voice lowered. “We can make them think otherwise.”

“What do you suggest?” I whispered, though I already knew what he meant.

He shifted closer, crowded me back against the door, and tipped my chin up with a crooked finger. “Yeah?”

I felt the heat of him, the powerful lines of his body pressing against my curves.

My heart raced. We had to. No choice. “Yeah.”

There was a part of me that hoped the kiss at the altar had been a fluke. Something that happened once by accident. Something that couldn’t be repeated.

But that hope exhaled its final breath as Cosimo’s mouth pressed down on mine.

If the room had felt too small before, now it vanished entirely. There was only him. The scrape of his teeth against my lower lip. The slick stroke of his tongue. The low sound he made when I kissed him back, like he’d wanted to stay in control, and I’d just ruined that for him.

I dragged my fingers into his hair and tugged. A moan worked its way out of me at the feel of his hands tightening on my waist. He caught my hip, pulling me into him until I felt the hard length of him against my thigh.

A flare of panic lit somewhere in the back of my mind.

This was supposed to be for show.

There was nothing fake about that.

He pressed me harder against the door, swallowing the next sound that broke from me. I was so hot, so dizzy, so completely lost in him, that I barely noticed his hand sliding down the door beside my head.

Not until his fingers found the handle.

Click.

The door gave way.

I would’ve fallen backward if Cosimo hadn’t caught me tightly against his body.

A few shocked gasps rang out, followed by laughter and cheers.

Cosimo cupped my cheek, his forehead touching mine, his breath still uneven against my lips.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now pull yourself together. We’ve got a convincing act to put on.”

The act that followed turned out to be easier than I’d expected.

Dinner was filled with toasts from various family members while servers delivered and cleared seven courses with perfect timing. There was no dancing. No chants of bacio. No need for Cosimo and me to make a further show of our affection.

Six hours after Cosimo slid a ring onto my finger, we drove through dark streets toward his house, having taken his plane back to New York.

I glanced down at the wedding band. It felt surreal. I supposed I was a married woman now. Fabiana Ferraro. By the time I got used to using my new name, our marriage would probably be near its predetermined end.

We pulled up to Cosimo’s house.

From the outside, it looked modern and imposing: gray walls, tinted windows, a clean rectangular structure that seemed designed to give nothing away. Very much like its owner.

I glanced over at Cosimo. He was typing something out on his phone, as if this were any other evening. But it wasn’t. And not just because of the kisses we’d shared.

He’d trusted me with a secret no one else knew.

Before I could second-guess myself, I reached across the seat and squeezed his hand. “I’m not going to betray your trust, Cosimo. You didn’t want me thinking you were a cheat. I don’t want you thinking I don’t know how to keep a secret. You can trust me. What you told me today stays between us.”

His dark gaze stayed on me for an extended moment before dropping lower. To my hand resting on top of his.

He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t pull away either.

When the car stopped, a maid was already waiting at the front entrance. Cosimo greeted her and then looked at me. “The staff here are people I trust. Nancy will show you to your room.” A brief pause. “I’ve got work to do.”

I frowned. Work to do. Of course. Despite what had happened in the church, despite what he’d told me in the closet, I could already feel him retreating behind his usual walls.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded and walked off.

Nancy offered me a soft smile. “Are you ready, miss?”

I smiled back, though something inside me sank. He trusted his staff enough to drop the performance the moment we’d walked in the door. There was no need to play the happy couple on our wedding night.

I followed Nancy up the stairs, feeling the full weight of the day settle over me.

Everything had changed for me.

For him, though… Perhaps he didn’t want anything to change between us at all.

CHAPTER 22

COSIMO

I waited downstairs until I couldn’t hear the sound of Nettle’s footsteps anymore. Only then did I trek up to my own bedroom, cursing myself for the fact that our rooms had a shared master bathroom between them. When the architect had proposed it, I’d thought it was a decent enough layout for when I had a wife one day.

Now, the thought of walking in on her while she was showering or taking a bath or even brushing her goddamn teeth made me inexplicably irate. It was like dangling a juicy steak just out of reach of a starving man.

Fuck.

The kisses had nearly undone me. In retrospect, my celibacy over the last three years had been a terrible mistake. Maybe if I’d fucked another woman in that time, kissing my wife wouldn’t have made me ache with need.

But it was what she’d said to me in the car on the way home from the airstrip that had gotten to me more than anything. “You can trust me.”

Something in me longed to believe her, even if I knew that would be a mistake.

I stripped off my wedding suit, agitated and excruciatingly aware of her body curled up just two walls over from me. There was no way I was going to sleep tonight.

But the moment my head hit my pillow, mercifully, I passed right the fuck out.

That was where the mercy ended.

I didn’t sleep. I dreamt. The kinds of vivid dreams that feel more real than reality. In the dream, I stood at the altar kissing Nettle in slow motion. A pull on her bottom lip stretched to fill an hour. A lick against her tongue lasted a month. I spent a year exploring the inside of her mouth as if it were an undiscovered land filled with enchanting treasures. When at last we pulled apart in the dream, I lived what felt like half a lifetime lost within her, not wanting to be found.

At that point, my confused consciousness blinked its eyes open inside the dream and put itself in the driver’s seat. The kiss began again, but the time distortion ended. I felt a sense of urgency, like I was existing on borrowed time. I pulled her closer, desperate to memorize every last aspect of her taste before whatever unknown bad thing happened, but she fought against my grip and broke the kiss.

“Enough.” Her voice was strained, breathy. “Don’t you know you’re dreaming? Stop wasting time, you fool.”

I understood what she wanted then. The altar was just like I remembered, but the chapel was empty. It was just us.

She pulled me down to the step where the priest had stood and climbed onto my lap, her hands desperately tugging her wedding dress up to her waist. “I want you. I want you. I want you…” She chanted that as I unbuckled my belt, as I pulled out my painfully erect cock, as I dragged my fingers through the sopping wetness between her legs.

“Oh fuck,” I grunted as she grabbed me by the wrist and pushed my fingers inside of her.

“There,” she moaned as I pumped my digits in and out. “That’s where I want you.”

I grabbed her by the waist and rolled us over, putting her beneath me. My body was buzzing all over, the pleasure and pain of anticipation pulsating against the inside of my skin.

I tugged my fingers out, grabbed my cock, and pressed the head right up against her entrance. Her cunt pulled on me, as if an actual magnetic force was yanking me forward.

Without knowing why, I held my hips steady, fighting against it. “Christ.”

She moaned, her body writhing, her eyes hooded so that only a sliver of emerald remained. “Please.”

By now, the buzzing sensation had pooled low around the base of my cock. I knew that the moment I entered her, I’d find nirvana. I was a sinner, but with her, I’d catch a glimpse of the divine.

It’s a long way back down to hell. You sure you’ll make it? a voice asked, and it sounded like someone from the real world talking straight into my ear.

I woke up with a sharp gasp, my hands clutching at the sheets, my chest slick with sweat, and my cock weeping. Outside, the first rays of dawn cut through the darkness of the receding night.

I felt half crazed with want as I rolled onto my side and jerked myself off without even pausing to consider what I was doing. Three rough pumps, and I was done. The angry veins of my cock pulsated as cum spilled all over my hand and dripped past my knuckles onto the sheet. There was a second or two of incapacitating pleasure before I came crashing right back down.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

I shot out of bed, unable to even look at the evidence of what I’d done. I tore the sheet off, balled it up, and threw it into the laundry basket. I marched through the bathroom over to the door that led into her room and locked it for good measure. If she walked in on me while I showered right now, I’d probably fucking lose it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she’d ask, arching a perfect little brow at me.

“You are everything that’s wrong with me,” I’d have no choice but to answer.

I stood in the cold shower until the dream faded and I felt some semblance of my normal self. Then I got out, dried myself off, and decided I’d drown myself in work.

Anything to keep my mind off her.

CHAPTER 23

FABIANA

“How are you, miss? Can I get you anything?”

I looked up from Gino’s art journal. The maid who’d shown me to my room last night poked her head into my bedroom, wearing a polite smile. I was taking a break from writing thank-you cards after my hand had all but frozen into a claw around the pen.

“Is it possible to turn up the heat?” The house was absolutely frigid, and the small electric fireplace in my room wasn’t doing a great job of warming it.

She grimaced and tugged her wool sweater tighter around her. “Unfortunately, Mr. Ferraro is quite strict about keeping it at sixty-four degrees.”

Sixty-four degrees?

It was only my experience in dealing with diplomats that stopped my jaw from falling open.

Who lived like this? Willingly?

“If you want, I can bring you another blanket?” the maid offered sheepishly, like it was her fault her boss liked to live in a refrigerator. “There should be some more in the guest bedroom downstairs.”

“Sure, that would be great. Thanks.”

She ducked out. I grabbed one of the wool blankets I’d pilfered from the closet and draped it over my shoulders, fighting against a shiver in my arms. The list of wedding guests who’d given us presents was two pages long. Etiquette demanded I write a thank-you card to each of them, signed from Cosimo and me. So far, I’d gotten through about forty.

There were over a hundred left to go.

Maybe I could talk to Cosimo about the temperature, but I didn’t want to call him. Actually, after a solid night of sleep, I was convinced the only way I’d survive the next six months was if I followed his lead and kept my distance.

The maid said he’d taken his breakfast in his office this morning. He’d left without saying goodbye. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to come home until well after I went to bed.

That was fine. Whenever we were in close contact with each other, it felt like I was on a roller coaster that was as likely to give me a thrill as it was to make me puke my guts out.

I almost regretted pushing him into telling me his secret. If I’d just kissed him while assuming he had another woman on the side, everything might be a lot simpler.

But there was nothing simple about Cosimo. No, my husband was a complicated man, and I was far too inexperienced to know how to handle him.

Distance was good. Distance was safe.

I put Gino’s journal inside the bedside drawer and started on the next card.

“Ah, dammit.” I’d misspelled the name of one of Cosimo’s cousins, courtesy of my stiff fingers.

This was ridiculous. I couldn’t work under these conditions.

I remembered the library had a huge fireplace. Maybe I could finish the cards there.

With a huff, I clambered out of bed, grabbed a handful of blank thank-you cards, pulled on a pair of thick sweatpants and a hoodie, and headed downstairs.

Cosimo’s home reminded me of a modern art museum, only without the art. Obviously. Cold concrete floors, automatic blackout blinds on every window, and minimal furniture. The furniture that was present seemed to be optimized for discomfort.

My bare feet—why didn’t I put on socks?—yearned for a rug as I padded my way down a hall to the library. Or at least to where I thought the library should be. The maid had pointed it out to me on the tour she’d given me last night, but I’d been so tired I couldn’t really remember the route we’d taken to get there.

The first door I opened was a guest bedroom. I kept going, passing bare walls and identical light fixtures. I was fairly sure I’d lost my way, but there was another door at the end of the hall, so I went to check it.

The second I opened it, a rush of sweet, blessed heat hit me full in the face.

I bit back a groan of pleasure.

It was Cosimo’s sauna.

Finally, one room in the house where warm-blooded creatures could feel comfortable. Strange how this wasn’t included in the tour. I wondered if that was intentional. Did Cosimo not want to share?

Sorry, hubby.

I was definitely going to make use of it.

I left the thank-you cards on the floor outside and stepped in. It was hot—gloriously, deliciously hot. The warmth seeped through my clothes almost instantly, and within seconds I was peeling layers off until I was down to my bra and panties. I climbed onto the upper tier of wooden benches, spread out a towel, lay back, and closed my eyes.

The air smelled nice, like something herbal. I breathed in deeply for a few minutes, a relaxed smile spreading across my face. Another few minutes, and I was sweating.

My phone dinged. I probably should’ve left it outside, but I lifted it over my face and opened a text from Zo.

So? Did the Ice Prince deliver?

I snorted and typed back.

You have no idea how accurate that nickname turned out to be. He lives in an ice box. I was freezing my butt off until I stumbled onto this.

I snapped a photo of the sauna.

Oooo. I’ve always wanted to have sauna sex. Enjoy ;)

My cheeks heated. There would be none of that.

But I was planning on using this baby every day while Cosimo was out. Call it a perk of being the woman of the house.

CHAPTER 24

COSIMO

The engine idled beneath me as I typed out a message to one of the capos. Alvarez’s shipment was coming in tonight, and moving that much product without a hitch took coordination.

THUD. THUD.

I glanced up. Rom stood outside the car, gesturing for me to unlock it.

“Good thing I caught you,” he said as he climbed in. “I went up to your office, but your secretary said you’d just left. Been calling you for the past hour.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, finishing the message. “Busy day. Give me a second.”

He glanced down at the floor mats. “Why are there a bunch of plastic dicks on the floor of your car?”

I tossed the phone into the center console with an irritated flick of my hand. “Long story.”

“I think I’ve got time for this one.”

“I don’t.” I wasn’t going to revisit the memory of that night for Rom’s sake.

“You’re cranky. Trouble in marital paradise? It’s been less than a week—how’d you manage to fuck things up so fast?”

I hadn’t. In fact, I’d done exactly what I told myself I would do after the wedding—bury myself in work.

But every free moment, when my mind wasn’t actively occupied with something else, Nettle was right there, just beneath the surface.

I was curious to know how she was doing. How she was settling into her new life, her new house, her new routine. I’d assigned her a driver and a bodyguard, two of my very best, but besides getting daily reports on her comings and goings, I refused to ask the house staff for more details. It would only feed the obsession.

Which was exactly what this was starting to feel like.

When I was at home, I found it easy to not cross paths with her. Too easy. Almost like my new wife was just as committed to avoiding me as I was to avoiding her.

Again, what I should’ve been feeling about that, and what I actually felt, were diametrically opposed. Instead of relief at having not seen her in days, I was irritated. Instead of being able to forget her, I was reminded of her by the mug on my desk. I could’ve put it away, but I hadn’t. I told myself that was because it was useful—the handle was surprisingly ergonomic, and I used it nearly every day.

But the truth was that I hadn’t shoved it into a drawer because I liked seeing it there.

I leveled Rom with an impatient look. “What was so important that you chased after me as I was about to pull out of the parking lot?”

His expression turned serious. “I’ve got some bad news. You know how we bugged Mother’s office? We got something this morning. George met with her.”

I frowned. George was one of our capos, a good man, loyal to Dad for over a decade.

“She offered to give him a stake in Ferraro Holdings. Positioning it not as a bribe, but as a reward for his service. About ten thousand shares, a board seat, and voting rights.”

Anger zipped up my spine. “She’s just gonna try and buy the fucking votes?”

“Looks like it. Why overcomplicate things when the simple option will do?”

“She can’t grant the shares unilaterally. The board will have to approve it.”

“I think there’s a good chance she’ll be able to get the majority to vote it through. You know, I spent years getting her dirt on all the board members. If they don’t agree willingly, she’ll force it.”

I rubbed my palm over my chin. I could try to put my own pressure on the board. But if word got out that I’d blocked the vote to give him shares and a seat—and I was certain it would get out—I’d lose George anyway.

Fighting her on this was a no-win scenario for me.

“George’s got a long record,” I muttered. “Some of it recent. Putting him on the board of a legitimate business would damage us long term.”

“Yeah, well, Mother’s not thinking long term. She’s thinking about the next—let’s see—twenty-five days.”

“Fuck. Has Dad been gone that long?” I rubbed my chin, wondering where the fuck the time had gone.

“Over a month now.” Rom blew out a breath. “I think it’s all going to come down to who manages to find Dad’s killers. The capos might want money and power, the same as any man does, but they were loyal to Dad. They would’ve died for him. More than anything, they crave vengeance against the Santoros.”

“I’m working on it,” I muttered.

“We’re running out of time.” Rom sniffed. “All we’ve got are cold leads, Cos. What’s the plan?”

I picked my phone back up and scrolled through my unread messages. There it was. I thought I’d seen something come in from Rosa when I was finishing the message earlier.

“I might have something, but I need a bit of time to look into it. I’ll let you know.”

“All right.” He slapped my shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”

I waited for him to get out of the car before I dialed Rosa. Her latest text said she had good news. I really fucking hoped so, because Rom was right. We were running out of time.

She picked up. “You know that raise we discussed? I want you to keep that at the top of your mind for the duration of this call.”

I tapped my fingers against the wheel. “I’m listening.”

“This Friday, there’s a charity auction benefiting the Guggenheim’s conservation and acquisitions program. The identities of the donors are meant to be anonymous, but someone fucked up. The event organizers uploaded the full catalogue to a page on their site, and apparently, someone pushed a test update live by mistake. So for about five minutes, the donor names were visible. You know how my hacker dude set up alerts for any mentions of the Santoros on the internet? Well, he got a hit.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Rena Santoro is listed as one of the donors for this auction.”

I frowned. It was something, but it wasn’t immediately obvious what I could do with this information. “What did she donate?”

“It’s some kind of a vase. But that’s not what’s most interesting. Once we got the lead, I had our hacker dude dig deeper. We managed to track down the RSVP list via an intern’s laptop. He’d connected it to a public Wi-Fi network. Guess who RSVP’d?”

My gaze narrowed. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Rena Santoro is going to be there.”

Oh, this was fucking excellent. “Did you get a photo?”

Rosa scoffed. “Trust me, getting the RSVP list was hard enough. And not cheap.”

“I don’t know what she looks like.” How was I going to identify her even if she did come to the event? There’d be hundreds of people there.

“We still have access to the intern’s laptop. If he happens to use it to check people in, we should be able to tell you once she arrives.”

Good enough. This was the most promising lead we’d gotten since the explosion. “When’s the gala?”

“Two days from now. The thing’s completely sold out, but I’m guessing you can pull some strings to get yourself a ticket.”

“Yeah.” I was fairly sure Messero had donated to the museum in the past. He would be able to get me in. Although he’d want to know if I was taking Fabiana. I had no good excuse not to bring her with me. And with Mother making moves with the capos, I needed to remind everyone that the Messero alliance would be at risk if they turned on me.

I wasn’t concerned about Fabiana’s safety. Nothing would happen at the actual event even if I found Rena Santoro. All I’d do is get her photo so we could run it through facial recognition. Maybe have a conversation.

But having Fabiana on my arm all night would test me.

I cracked my neck. I could handle it.

“So about that raise?” Rosa brought me back to the conversation.

“I’ll see what I can do. Good work.”

It was only five o’clock, far earlier than when I usually returned home, but I’d gotten so much done in the last few days, there was nothing pressing to handle anymore.

I’d drive home and use the sauna. Clear my head.

Then I’d find Fabiana and tell her about the gala.

Twenty minutes later, a towel wrapped around my waist, I pulled open the sauna door.

And stopped dead.

Because my half-naked wife was already there.

CHAPTER 25

FABIANA

The sauna was heaven. I was lying on the top bench, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily over the edge, when the door opened.

Cool air swept over my damp skin. I pushed up to my elbows to see who it was and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Cosimo stood in the doorway, shirtless, nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his waist.

I gawked at him. My gaze drifted over the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his stomach, and the sharp V of muscle disappearing beneath the towel. The crown of thorns wrapped around the base of his throat was only the beginning of a dense network of dark ink that splayed over his golden skin. The tattoos wrapped around his torso and climbed over one shoulder and down his arm.

My mouth went dry. It was one thing to feel that body press against me in the tiny storage closet that I returned to in my dreams. It was another to see it in all its naked glory.

When I finally managed to lift my eyes to his face, his brows were drawn together, annoyance dancing inside his gaze.

“Out, Nettle.”

There was a version of me that would’ve scrambled to leave, that would’ve accepted his tone at face value, but that version of me wasn’t around anymore. She’d vanished when he trusted me with his secret at the wedding, when he’d kissed me at the altar like he’d forgotten the entire church was watching.

So I didn’t quite believe the annoyed veneer anymore. Not when there was something tense beneath it. Something strained. Almost wary.

My heart pounded as I shook my head. “I was here first.”

His jaw tightened. I readied for an argument. Cosimo Ferraro didn’t strike me as a man who gave up territory easily, especially not in his own house. He hovered on the threshold, his hand on the door handle, and without meaning to, I let my gaze drift down again.

Three years. He hadn’t slept with anyone for three years. I didn’t think men like him—young, fit, virile—dealt well with that kind of thing. How did he manage?

Maybe he takes good care of himself.

Another rush of cooler air slipped inside, brushing over my burning cheeks. “You’re letting out all the heat.”

His eyes narrowed. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “It’s big enough for the two of us.”

It was big enough for ten, but it sure didn’t feel that way as he crossed the sauna and sat on the same upper bench as me. Not beside my feet where there was a lot more space, but near my head. Close enough that if I turned slightly, the top of my head would brush his thigh.

“Seriously? There’s plenty of room.”

“This is my spot. You’re welcome to move.”

“And this is mine.”

“You’ve been coming here often enough to have a spot?”

“Every day.” I closed my eyes, because the view of his boulder-like shoulder and the cord of muscle running up the side of his neck was enough to make my pulse race in an unhealthy way.

“You didn’t mention you liked saunas when we’d talked before the wedding.”

“I didn’t, until I was forced to live in Arctic conditions.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the temperature in this mausoleum of a house. I have to write over two hundred thank-you notes for the gifts from the wedding. A quarter in, my fingers were turning blue and my teeth were chattering.”

“You couldn’t put on a sweater?”

“I put on two. And wrapped myself in a blanket.” I cracked one eye open, immediately regretted the view of his bare chest, and closed it again. “What’s the deal? Are you trying to save on your heating bill? Having financial problems? I’m starting to think you married me because of my trust fund.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him. “The cold keeps me sharp.”

“You’re barely even home. Why should the rest of us have to suffer while you’re not even here?”

“The rest of us?”

“I discussed it with the staff. They all agree and will back me.”

“They’ve never complained. You show up, and less than a week in, you’re already organizing a rebellion?”

“I can only go to so many pottery classes, Cosimo. Not much else to do here besides organize rebellions.”

He didn’t answer. Silence stretched between us, thick and engulfing. I forced myself to focus on my breathing, but every time he adjusted his position, I caught a whiff of his dizzying scent.

My breasts tightened.

“You’ve been ignoring me since the wedding,” I said.

“Miss me, Nettle?”

My cheeks heated. “I just thought that after we married, you’d parade me around town to remind everyone about the alliance.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Hmm.”

More silence. I eyed the clock on the wall. I’d been here for over twenty minutes. Soon, it would be time to leave, but I wasn’t ready yet.

“All these secrets you keep. Doesn’t it get lonely?” The heat was making me reckless.

“I’m used to it.”

“I never could get used to it.”

“When did you have to keep a secret?”

“The whole time I was abroad. I couldn’t tell anyone my real last name. Not a word about my family. The older I got, the more it weighed on me. I didn’t know how to connect with others while lying to them about who I was. On Friday nights, when everyone met up with their friends on the banks of the river to catch up on their week, I’d walk by them and realize I had no one to call.”

“Your sister?”

“Elena was always traveling. And my coworkers… We probably could’ve been close, but if they’d known who I was from the start, they would have stayed the hell away from me. I didn’t want to dupe anyone into being my friend.”

“None of us show our full selves to others. We’re all always hiding something. And often, it’s a hell of a lot worse than your last name.” He shifted again. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

I opened my eyes. He was close enough for me to count the drops of sweat sliding down his arm.

“So are you.”

“Am I?”

“Freezing house. Hostile furniture. I get wanting to stay sharp, but it’s okay to have one place where you can let go. Be comfortable.”

“I did have one place. Until you invaded it,” he grumbled.

My lips twitched. “You could be comfortable in your whole house, not just these twenty square feet. You know, it won’t kill you to throw down a rug in the living room.”

He looked straight down at me. “Get one then.”

I held his gaze. “You want me to redecorate?”

“I wouldn’t mind.” A strand of his hair shed a drop of sweat. It landed on my cheek, warm and startling.

“Might remind you of me when I’m gone,” I said, my voice going softer than I wanted it to.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and cupped my entire jaw.

The contact was firm enough to make every nerve in my body pull tightly.

His thumb swept over the drop on my cheek, as if he meant only to wipe it away. But then it moved lower, tracing the corner of my mouth before dragging over my bottom lip.

My lips parted. The tip of his thumb slipped inside, and a swipe of my tongue had me tasting salt and him.

Sparks moved through me, bright and shocking, settling just between my thighs.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind that either,” he murmured, his palm tightening around my jaw, while his gaze burned.

My damp swimsuit was suddenly too tight and abrasive against my breasts. I bit down, my teeth scraping against his thumb as he slid it farther. His eyes had gone so dark they were almost black, and I knew then that if I didn’t stop this right now, chances were that I’d give this man everything he wanted.

Even if it killed me in the end.

I sat up abruptly. I couldn’t. Some women could indulge an explosive attraction for six months and walk away unscathed, but I wasn’t one of them.

“Fine,” I said. “It’ll give me something to do.”

My intention was to get up and leave, but when I glanced his way, I froze.

He was hard, his towel tenting in his lap.

Ohmyfuckinggod.

He sat there, looking utterly unashamed, while I was on the verge of a complete meltdown.

“I do plan to parade you around town. There’s a gala coming up. We’re going.”

“When is it?” I choked out.

“Friday.” He leaned back, and the towel bobbed slightly. “Wear something nice. There’ll be photos.”

I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t look away. “It’s really hard to have a conversation with you when that’s in the room with us.”

“Whose fault is that, Fabiana?” Frustration bled into his tone. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you invaded my fucking sauna in that fucking bikini.”

I got off the bench and made it to the ground. “There’s nothing wrong with my bikini. It’s modest by most people’s standards.”

“Nothing modest about the way you look in it.”

My heart pitter-pattered inside my chest beneath his hungry gaze.

“Now get out before you really piss me off,” he growled.

He didn’t need to say it again. I swung open the door, and I ran.

CHAPTER 26

FABIANA

The Guggenheim red carpet was studded with celebrities, business leaders, and the who’s who of New York society. I held onto Cosimo’s arm as we shuffled along, waiting for our turn to be photographed.

Earlier today, it had been all hands on deck to get me ready. The hairstylist and makeup artist had spent four hours smoothing, curling, painting, and polishing me into someone who’d look picture-perfect from every angle.

Having a stylist as my best friend meant that my first instinct had been to ask Mia to dress me, but then I’d remembered Anthony’s card still sitting at the bottom of my purse from the funeral and decided to give him a chance. After all, we were family now, and family supported each other.

He sounded delighted when I called. After seeing his work, I genuinely had no idea why he was struggling with his clientele. I suspected he just needed to get better at marketing himself. The designs he’d shown me were exquisite. Unusual, yes, but beautiful and artistic.

He’d shown me a dress, and it was love at first sight. It made me feel like a fairy. The tailoring was elegant—a figure-hugging silhouette with a structured sweetheart bodice and thin straps. But what made the dress unique was the embellishment. Thousands of rhinestones, each one slightly different in shape and size, had been bonded by hand onto a sheer champagne mesh until the whole gown looked dusted in diamonds. Anthony said the application was experimental, a new technique that allowed the stones to appear almost suspended over the skin.

When Cosimo saw me in it, I could tell he was pleased.

“You clean up well, Nettle,” he’d said. I’d almost asked him if it was modest enough for him before I remembered it was better not to play with fire.

“Is my lipstick okay?” I asked, turning my face toward Cosimo just before we stepped onto the carpet.

His eyes swept over my lips and lingered for a beat. “Perfect.”

I peered down the red carpet toward the entrance and tried to ignore the way one look from him was enough to make warmth rush beneath my skin.

“Nervous?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t. There were hundreds of photographers lined up and ready to go. Instead of a few hundred wedding guests, these photos would be seen by tens of thousands. They’d be printed in magazines and posted all over the internet, and yet I didn’t feel even a tickle of anxiety.

I had a suspicion it was because of the man standing next to me. My husband was a dangerous man, and yet being on his arm made me feel safe. Riddle me that.

“Let’s do this,” I said.

Cosimo’s arm was wrapped around my waist, a possessive hand resting on my hip as we posed for the first photographer.

“Beautiful!” the man shouted. The flash went off, bright and blinding.

He lowered the camera and frowned at the screen. Two other photographers beside him leaned in.

They snickered.

The back of my neck prickled. “What is it?” I muttered.

“I don’t know.” Cosimo glanced down at me and then back at the photographers.

The same one who’d taken the first picture lifted his camera again and snapped another shot.

Cosimo’s fingers dug into my hipbone. “Fuck.”

“What?” My pulse kicked up. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders, then he locked his hand around mine and pulled me toward the photographers.

“Get rid of them,” he said to the man who’d taken the photos.

The photographer’s mouth curled. “No way. This will sell for a good amount to the rags.”

“I said get rid of them.” Cosimo’s voice dropped. “Now.”

I stared between them, bewildered. What the hell was going on?

The photographer’s smug expression wavered. He swallowed while his two buddies exchanged nervous looks. One leaned in closer, and I could’ve sworn I heard him whisper the name Ferraro into the photographer’s ear.

His smirk disappeared. He looked down at the camera, pressed a few buttons, and turned the screen toward Cosimo.

“Deleted.”

“The memory card too.”

“What?”

Cosimo’s voice went flat. “Give me the card.”

The photographer removed the memory card with trembling hands and dropped it into Cosimo’s open palm. One of the other men muttered something under his breath, but the second Cosimo’s gaze cut toward him, he went silent.

I glanced around, confused and worried. The red carpet had gone strangely quiet around us. There were still voices calling from farther down, and camera shutters clicking, but the people closest to us had started casting curious looks our way.

My anxiety spiked.

“What’s going on?” I whispered as Cosimo pulled me inside, one hand firm at the small of my back, his body angled to shield me from the rest of the cameras. We didn’t stop for any more photos. That had been the whole point of coming tonight.

A nauseating feeling opened in my stomach. I’d messed something up. Somehow, without even knowing what I’d done, I’d ruined the very thing I was supposed to help accomplish.

The atrium opened up before us, and guests gathered beneath the spiraling ramp with champagne glasses in their hands. Cosimo didn’t slow. He steered me toward a quieter alcove near the coat check and turned me so my back was to the wall.

“What happened?” I demanded.

His gaze moved over my face and then dropped lower. Something dark crossed his expression.

“The fabric photographs differently.”

I stared at him. “Differently how?”

“In the photos, the lining disappears under direct flash.”

“The lining…disappears?” No. No, no, no.

His expression flickered with pity.

“There were flashes going off the entire time.” My voice sounded too thin. Too far away. “From the moment we stepped onto the carpet.”

“Only one of them got a picture, and I already handled it.” The certainty in his voice did nothing to slow the panic clawing up my throat.

How many people saw my dress turn transparent? How many had been looking? I was only wearing a skimpy nude thong underneath and no bra due to the design.

My skin flashed hot with embarrassment beneath his jacket. A drop of sweat rolled down my spine. “I’m so sorry. The reason we’re here is to get pictures taken, and now we can’t.”

Tink.

“Relax. It’s fine.”

Tink, tink.

“It’s not. I can’t believe my bad luck.”

Tink, tink, tink.

Cosimo frowned. “What is that sound?”

He and I glanced down at the same time.

A few rhinestones rested on the ground by my shoes.

“Did those just fall off?” I whispered.

Another appeared beside it. Then another.

“What the fuck?” Cosimo grasped the jacket he’d put on me by the lapels and opened it.

There was a strange sheen to the dress that hadn’t been there before. I ran my fingers over it. Ugh, sticky! Immediately, a dozen more rhinestones shed beneath my hand.

Oh my God. The dress wasn’t just photographing wrong. It was coming apart!

“Oh no, no, no⁠—”

“Fabiana,” Cosimo’s voice had gone completely flat. “Where did you get this dress?”

I swallowed. “Anthony made it for me.”

“Christ.” Anger flashed in Cosimo’s gaze. “Didn’t I tell you he has no idea what he’s doing?”

“I thought you just didn’t recognize his artistic talent!” My voice cracked. This was a nightmare. “What am I going to do?”

The tiny, glittering pieces kept dropping, scattering across the marble. It was like the glue holding them to the mesh had begun to soften for some reason, and my every panicked breath seemed to loosen more of them.

What would happen when they were all gone? Let’s just say it wouldn’t take a photographer’s flash to make me look naked.

Cosimo drew his jacket closed around me, his hands fisting the fabric at the front. A couple walking past slowed when they noticed the mess at my feet. The woman whispered something to the man beside her.

I wanted to die.

Tears burned behind my eyes.

Cosimo dragged his palm over his mouth. “I’m going to kill Tony.”

A sob tore out of me. His gaze jumped to my face and softened. He cupped my cheeks. “Calm down. I’ll fix it.”

Calm down? I was so far beyond that. “Ladies’ room,” I choked out and then pushed past him, clutching his jacket tightly closed since it was the only thing still holding my dignity together. My heels struck hard against the marble as I searched through blurred vision for the restroom signs.

“Fabiana!” he called out.

I didn’t look back. If I looked back, I’d see him following me. I’d see the faces turning. I’d see the glittering trail of rhinestones I was leaving behind.

Evidence of my own stupidity.

The worst part wasn’t even the dress. The worst part was that Cosimo had been right.

I was a liability.

CHAPTER 27

COSIMO

One thing was clear to me. I needed to find a solution to this clusterfuck before I went chasing after Fabiana. The quickest way to get her to calm down would be to hand her a brand-new dress that didn’t have a fifteen-minute lifespan.

I dialed Tony as I moved through the atrium. He answered on the third ring. “Cosimo?”

“I will gut you the next time I see you.”

Something clattered on his end of the line. “What? Why?”

“That. Fucking. Dress.”

“Do you think it’s too much? You think it’s too much. What can I say, your wife isn’t afraid to take risks. Finally, someone in this family understands me⁠—”

“It turned transparent under a camera flash.”

Silence.

“And now the stones are falling off because the glue is melting against her skin.”

“What?” His voice went up an octave. In my opinion, he still didn’t sound sufficiently alarmed. His atelier was done. He was done. “The dress was tested under light, I swear! And the bonding agent is solid. It’s just a bit heat sensitive.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s wearing it on her body, Tony. Bodies have heat,” I growled. “Although yours won’t once I’m done with you.”

Tony moaned. “Shit.”

“I need to get her something new to wear. Bring me something. Quickly.”

“I’m not in New York,” he squeaked out. “I’m on my way to DC right now, I left right after I’d dressed Fabiana. I can turn back, but I’m an hour away already.”

Fuck. “You’re useless.” I hung up and exited the atrium into a gallery where only a few others milled about. I didn’t even know where I was going, I just had too much adrenaline coursing through me to stand still.

My phone pinged. It was a text from Rosa.

Rena hasn’t checked in yet.

Fuck. Right. The main reason I’d come here tonight. At least if Rena Santoro wasn’t here yet, I had a bit of time to sort this out before I needed to try to track her down.

What the fuck was I going to do? Nettle’s friend Mia might’ve been able to bring her something, but she was out of town with Rom for the weekend. Every other option I considered would take too long. I racked my brain for any feasible ideas that didn’t involve me forcing another woman here to hand over her gown. Which I’d do, if it came to it.

And that’s when I saw it.

Halfway down the gallery, a dress stood inside a glass display case. It was made from an aquamarine fabric and had a plunging neckline and fluffy feathers at the hem. I knew nothing about women’s fashion, but it looked well-made and roughly Fabiana’s size, which were the only attributes that mattered as far as I was concerned.

I waved over a man in a tuxedo with a staff earpiece who stood nearby.

“Good evening, sir.” He gave me a pleasant smile. His name tag said his name was Alistair Crane, and he was the director of development. “Let me guess, you’re curious about the history of this stunning piece. It’s up for auction tonight. I must commend your excellent eye. This dress was once worn by the inimitable⁠—”

“How much?”

Crane blinked, taken aback. “The bidding starts at three hundred thousand, sir.”

To my own astonishment, the next words out of my mouth were, “I’ll pay you four hundred for it right now.”

What the fuck are you doing?

Four hundred thousand dollars for a dress. A dress. It was the kind of insane, indulgent, financially illiterate spending I despised.

And now here I was, offering more than the price of a small apartment for a piece of fucking fabric because my wife was upset.

Crane turned his nose up, as if I were some beggar. “It’s not for sale,” he said stiffly. “It’s for the auction.”

My gaze narrowed. I didn’t fucking like being told no. “Five hundred if you give it to me now.”

He scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”

“Six hundred thousand. I’ll pay for it right now and throw in a generous tip.”

Now he was listening. He leaned in. “How generous?”

“Ten thousand.”

The curiosity in his eyes was extinguished. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but my professional integrity is worth far more than that. We were projecting the bidding on this item to reach at least eight hundred thousand.”

“Then I’ll give you eight hundred,” I said through gritted teeth. “And twenty grand to you.”

He hesitated, clearly running some calculation in his head. “To remove it from the auction, I’d have to charge a convenience fee.”

If not for the security standing by the entrance of the gallery, I would’ve defaulted to other methods of persuasion. “What kind of convenience fee?”

“Another one hundred and eighty thousand.”

“A million for a dress? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Highway robbery. That’s what this was. Eight hundred for the dress and nearly two hundred into his own pocket. He’d probably quit his job tomorrow and spend the next year drinking rum on a beach.

The man had the audacity to look offended. “As I was saying, this is a vintage piece once worn by Marilyn Monroe. It has cultural significance, not to mention the kind of craftsmanship that simply doesn’t exist anymore. I’m already breaking a number of rules by even considering the sale. I couldn’t possibly violate my fiduciary duty by selling it for less than it’s worth.”

I ground my teeth.

I didn’t have to buy it. That would be the disciplined thing to do. I could just tell Fabiana to go home. Get her out through a back entrance. There’d be plenty of other events where we could be photographed together. I could handle the rest of the night alone.

But the thought of telling her to leave—when she was so obviously upset, so embarrassed…

She’d spend the rest of the evening crying in her room. I fucking knew it. And tomorrow morning, she’d pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but the evening would stay with her. She was already nervous about getting her photos taken before this fucking shit show.

My fist clenched. I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t make my wife sneak out through some back door like she didn’t belong here.

With me.

“Fine. One million.”

“Wonderful,” Crane said, looking far too pleased with himself. “Right this way, sir. I can take your payment here.”

I followed him down a staff hallway into a room where several workers were organizing the auction lots.

“It has to be by card,” he said as he pulled out a payment terminal. “A wire would take several days to settle.”

“Fine.” I pulled out my wallet and handed him my black Amex.

He swiped it.

“Sir…” He looked up. “It says it’s been declined.”

I groaned internally. Probably because I’d never tried to pay a million dollars with a fucking credit card before.

“Put two hundred and fifty thousand on that one,” I said, pulling out three more cards from my wallet. “The rest on these. Two fifty each.”

Crane gave me a tight, unimpressed smile. “Of course.”

I stood there while he ran the cards one by one, every passing minute scraping against my nerves. I had to get back to Fabiana. Who knows what state she was in by now?

After what felt like forever, he was done.

“I’ll go get you that dress,” he said. “If you don’t mind waiting here.”

“Hurry,” I barked, just as my phone started vibrating in my pocket.

The caller ID said it was Jerry, my accountant.

“Hello?”

“Cosimo, did someone steal your wallet? I’m getting alerts for massive transactions across four of your cards. I don’t know how the bank even let them through. I’m already dialing the fraud department.”

“It wasn’t fraud, and maybe you can tell me why my limits are so goddamn low,” I snapped.

There was a pause.

“You’re telling me that was you?” A beat. “Are you under the influence?”

“I’m not under the fucking influence, Jerry.”

“Can I ask what’s going on?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just raise the limits, would you?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “you’re the one who told me to keep them at two hundred and fifty thousand. In fact, I have it written in my notes. You know, I keep detailed notes.” He cleared his throat. “You said that if you ever asked me to raise your limit, I should remind you that someone needs to manage the costs, and in this case, that someone is me.”

“I know what I fucking said. But that was before I got myself an expensive wife.”

Silence. Then Jerry chuckled knowingly.

“Ah. Wives. Yes, they’re known to be expensive, depreciating assets.”

I went very still. “Jerry. You ever call my wife a depreciating asset again, and you’ll be the one getting written off. Permanently. You understand?”

“Oh—geez. I’m sorry, Cosimo. I didn’t mean—I didn’t think you’d take it like that.”

“Raise the fucking limits,” I barked into the phone and hung up.

CHAPTER 28

FABIANA

Tink. Tink. Tink.

I was convinced that tinkling sound would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.

The sea of rhinestones on the floor around me just kept growing. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrors lining the walls of the accessible bathroom I’d locked myself in. The mirrors confirmed that with so many of the rhinestones gone, I didn’t look decent from any angle.

My earlier panic had dulled into a resigned kind of despair.

Why didn’t I just listen to Cosimo when he warned me about Anthony? I’d ignored him, so sure he was just being condescending and dismissive of a misunderstood artist.

But he’d judged Anthony exactly right. Beautiful or not, what was the point of a dress if it didn’t last through the night?

I let out a low sigh. Music and the sound of people talking filtered through the door at an escalating volume. I couldn’t stay here forever. Eventually, someone would need to use the bathroom, and really, there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

I had to get back out there. Hopefully, I’d be able to slip away without people looking at me too closely. Cosimo’s jacket covered most of me, which was a relief. I just wanted to get home, crawl into bed, and not poke my head out for a week or two.

I dug inside my purse for my phone. I’d text Cosimo and let him know I was leaving. He was probably furious with me. I thought he might come find me by now, but it had been at least fifteen minutes since I ran from him, and he hadn’t even texted.

Hurt flickered inside my chest.

No. I didn’t get to feel sorry for myself. This was all my fault.

I began to type that I was going to take a taxi home.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Shit. I grabbed Cosimo’s jacket from where I’d left it on the counter and pressed it against my front. “Just one moment!”

“It’s me.”

Cosimo. I rushed to the door to let him in. “I was just about to text you. I—” As he stepped inside, my eyes widened on the garment bag slung over his arm. “What’s that?”

He locked the door behind him, an air of annoyance wafting off him. “Your new dress. Put it on so we can have a drink and forget this ever happened.”

“What?” I asked, stunned. “Where did you get that?”

“Lost and found.”

I frowned. “How is that possible? Someone lost a dress?”

His gaze flashed. “Nettle, do you think I asked? Who gives a fuck how it ended up there. Just see if it fits.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice. I swapped the jacket in my arms for the garment bag, pulled on the zipper, and peeked inside.

“You’re kidding.” The dress was beautiful. I took it out completely and held it out in front of me, studying the details.

“This was in lost and found?” I shot him a skeptical glance, but he wasn’t looking at the dress. He was looking at me.

Cosimo’s gaze carved a heated path down my barely covered body, and when he met my eyes again, there was something distinctly hungry in his expression.

I pressed the dress to my front, remembered the salty taste of his sweat against my tongue, and the way I lay in bed that night with my hand between my legs, imagining what might’ve happened if I’d stayed in the sauna and pissed him off some more.

“Nettle, I beg you.” His voice had roughened around the edges. “Get dressed.”

I swallowed. “Turn around.”

He did, giving me a view of his back as I peeled Anthony’s dress—or what remained of it—off my body.

At the sound of it crashing to the ground, Cosimo’s shoulders rose a fraction. He seemed annoyed, but not as angry as I’d expected him to be after I’d managed to turn the evening into a disaster within five minutes of arriving. In fact, I had a hunch he was using his irritation to mask something softer. More dangerous.

I was starting to suspect my fake husband might feel something for me.

I didn’t know how deep those feelings went—probably not very—or whether he had any intention of acknowledging them. I wasn’t even sure he understood them himself. Cosimo was too good at burying things he didn’t want to feel.

But his mask of indifference had started to slip.

And it terrified me how much I liked discovering what lived underneath.

“I’m sorry, Cosimo.” I pulled the aquamarine gown on. It slid smoothly over my hips. “I could’ve gone home. Escaped through a back door.”

“You need to remember who the fuck you are, Fabiana.” His voice was low. “You’re my wife. You came here on my arm, and you’re going to leave on it. Through the front, head held high.”

I halted, my heart fighting against my rib cage. Something warm, soft, and gooey unfurled inside my chest.

“Does it fit?”

I moved again, tugging the sleeves into place. “I think so. I need you to zip me up.” I walked up to the counter and saw him turn in the mirror.

His eyes landed on me. A vein in his throat pulsed.

Heat climbed up my neck as his gaze sharpened like a predator’s. He stepped toward me, stopping right behind me. His broad body towered over mine, close enough for the scent of his cologne to slip over my skin.

I pulled my lipstick from my purse and leaned over the sink.

His fingers found the zipper at the base of my spine at the exact moment the lipstick touched my mouth.

The first tug stole my breath.

Our gazes caught in the mirror. The air in the room had become taut, like a pulled string.

I dragged the color over my bottom lip as he drew the zipper up, inch by inch, his knuckles grazing the bare skin of my back with every slow pull. The pressure was light, almost nothing. But my body reacted the way it might if he’d carved that languid path with his tongue. Heat flooded my veins, making my hand nearly tremble.

His gaze dropped to my lips in the mirror, then lifted back to my eyes as the zipper reached the top.

“There.”

I watched his reflection take one slow step back, watched the careful rearrangement of his expression into something controlled.

I capped the lipstick, tossed it into my clutch, and turned. “How do I look?”

He lifted his hand, dragging his knuckles over my cheek, and then he leaned down, bringing his lips to just beside my ear.

“Like a million bucks.”

Outside, the cocktail hour was in full swing. No one paid Cosimo and me any mind as we stepped out of the bathroom together.

“Should we get a glass of wine?” I asked, still abuzz from the last few moments. Something bright and eager and a little stupid danced inside my chest. What a turnaround from only ten minutes ago.

“I’ve gotta take a call,” Cosimo said, looking at his phone with furrowed brows. “Will you manage to not get yourself into trouble if I leave you on your own for a little while?”

“Sure.”

His palm brushed over my lower back. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”

At the bar, I ordered that glass of wine. God knew I needed one. My fingers curled around the stem, I turned and leaned against the counter, a wave of tiredness washing over me now that the adrenaline had finally drained from my system.

A couple—a man and a woman—standing a few feet away shot me a strange look.

What now?

I glanced down and scrutinized the dress for any imperfections. Was it possible for me to get unlucky not once, not twice, but three times in one night? If so, I was cursed. There was no other explanation.

But nothing was wrong. When I looked back up, the couple was already gone. Huh. Maybe I’d imagined it.

A woman in a tailored jumpsuit stepped away from a nearby group and approached the bar to order a martini. She wore an unusual pair of earrings. I studied them as she waited for her drink.

“Excuse me, are you wearing Taffin earrings?” It was the only brand I knew that combined ceramics and precious gems so exquisitely.

The woman smiled. “I am.”

“They’re stunning. Getting a custom Taffin piece has been on my bucket list for years.”

“Would you like to take a closer look?”

“I’d love to.”

She took one earring out and handed it to me. “Do you work with jewelry?”

“No, but I dabble in pottery, and I spent a few semesters studying ceramics in college.” I told her briefly about the courses I’d taken while I examined the intricate design.

As I handed the earring back to her, I caught two women staring at me. Was one of them taking a photo with her phone? She held it at a weird angle, and when she realized I’d noticed her, she grabbed her friend by the arm and pulled her away.

I shifted, uncomfortable.

“Looks like you have some admirers,” the woman said. She must’ve seen them too.

“I don’t get it. Why are people staring at me?”

“Probably because you’re wearing a million-dollar dress.”

The wine nearly sprayed out of my mouth. What?

“The staff here aren’t particularly discreet.” The woman picked her martini off the counter. “Word spread quickly that a special lot was purchased on the spot at a steep premium.”

I gaped at her. “I don’t understand.”

She arched a surprised brow. “Don’t you know? Your husband insisted on buying that dress for you.” She gave me a once-over. “I’ve got to give it to the man. He knew exactly what he was doing. That gown looks like it was made for you.”

This dress had been one of the auction items. That’s what she was saying, right? And Cosimo paid a million for it?

A million dollars!

Impossible. Sure, he could afford it, but this was the man who hadn’t even argued with me when I’d called him Scrooge. He didn’t spend money on art, and he didn’t spend money on vanity projects.

And yet he’d spent an outrageous amount on this dress because of…me.

Inside me, a hurricane was brewing. A calamity.

“Will you excuse me?” I asked, forcing the words past my dry mouth.

“Of course.” The woman gave me a knowing smile. “You got lucky with that one.”

I didn’t feel very lucky.

Maybe I really was cursed.

CHAPTER 29

COSIMO

“It’s possible she’ll show up, but it’s getting late. Most of the other guests have already checked in,” Rosa said on the other end of the line.

The plan Rosa and I had come up with had sounded good in theory, but it seemed more and more like Rena Santoro was going to be a no-show, and I was starting to realize the plan had only felt solid because I was desperate.

Desperation looked ugly on a don.

I stood near the vase Rena had donated, increasingly certain tonight was going to end up being a very expensive waste of time.

“Text me if anything changes,” I said, gripping my phone tighter.

“I’m sorry, Cosimo.”

Frustration pulsed at my temples as I slid the phone back into my jacket and tried to pretend that everything was fine. I was good at that. A large part of my job as underboss was just that—convincing the men who worked for me that everything was fine. That they’d get made, paid, and taken care of, no matter who it was that wanted to kill us at any given point.

And yet something foreign and uneasy rattled through my lungs as I tried to take a deep breath. The swearing-in ceremony was less than a month away. Vita was making inroads with the capos, slowly swaying their allegiances to her, and all I had was a collection of dead ends and a strategic marriage that was becoming a distraction.

Becoming?

Who was I kidding. Fabiana had been a goddamn distraction since I met her. As much as I would’ve liked to blame her for it, there was no one to blame but me.

I knew it was dangerous to bring Fabiana into my life. I knew it, and yet I thought I could handle it.

I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Less than two weeks into our marriage, and I’d already told her a secret no one was supposed to know, given her permission to fucking redecorate my house, and made what had to be the dumbest financial decision in my entire life on her behalf.

And worst of all? I didn’t regret any of it. Not even the dress.

Seeing her in it was worth every penny.

In short, this marriage was exactly what I’d feared. She was messing with my goddamn head. And my resolve to resist her was slipping with each passing day.

I glared at the vase in the glass case in front of me as if it were to blame for all my problems. It was bulbous and slightly misshapen and had abstract decorations painted on the side. It didn’t seem to be a popular lot here tonight. People passed by me, their faces flashing as they glanced around, but few stopped to look at the vase in detail.

What was so special about it? Why did Rena Santoro buy it in the first place?

I had no answers. And if Rena didn’t show up, I’d be back to square one.

“Your father had his doubts.” My mother’s voice rang in my ears.

Did he? Initially, I’d dismissed everything Vita said to me that day, but now, uncertainty dug in its poisoned claws.

Dad had never protected me and my brothers from her. He saw the lengths she was willing to go to in order to mold us into her weapons. He knew her capacity for cruelty. Had he really thought someone like her could make a good don? Better than me?

Sweat beaded over the back of my neck.

What if that last page of the will hadn’t been stolen after all? What if it was missing because Dad was still deciding what name he wanted to write there?

“Have you completely lost it?”

I turned around to find Nettle looking irate. She stepped up to me and poked me in the chest. “A million dollars?!”

I gritted my teeth. “Who told you?”

“The staff here are gossips. Everyone is staring at me like I’m an animal in the zoo.”

Great. Fucking great. Within days, everyone in the city would know how insane this woman drove me. “They would’ve stared at you regardless. At least now it’s because of a dress that’s still fucking on you.”

The fire in her eyes flared brighter. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me behind the glass display case. “You’re going to let me pay you back.”

“Don’t insult me like that.”

“I’m not insulting you, Cosimo. But this is absurd.”

“This is not a good time, Fabiana.”

“It’s too much. It’s unreasonable.”

“Yeah, well, reason often seems to leave the room at the exact same moment you enter,” I ground out.

She went still.

I’d said too much.

I pulled my hand out of hers and looked away.

“Cosimo…” I heard her sigh. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Great. Let’s wrap this conversation up. I’m in the middle of something.”

“Don’t do that.”

Reluctantly, I cast my gaze her way. Christ, she looked like a goddamn wet dream in that gown. “What?”

Her expression softened. “Don’t pretend you don’t care and then act like you do. It’s confusing.”

I rolled my shoulders, pulling the damp back of my collar away from my neck. “You’re only in this position because you took a chance on my idiot cousin. I’m not going to let my wife suffer the consequences of his incompetence. That’s it. As simple as that.”

“Simple,” she said flatly. “Right.”

A muscle ticked in my jaw.

She stepped closer and placed her hands on my chest. “Must’ve been agony for you, though. That much money spent on something so frivolous.”

“Wasn’t as bad as you might imagine,” I muttered, distracted by the feel of her palms.

“You sure? You look stressed.” She lifted her fingers to my temple. “You’re sweaty. Is it just hitting you now?”

“I’m not stressed because of the goddamn dress. It’s something else, all right?”

“What is it?” A line appeared between her brows.

My real motivation for being here tonight was firmly in the she-doesn’t-need-to-know territory. I’d gain nothing from sharing the information with her.

But what would I lose?

Fuck it.

“I was here to chase down a Santoro lead. It turned out to be another dead end.”

She frowned. “What kind of a lead?”

“Rena Santoro was supposed to be here tonight. She donated an item. But she never showed up.”

Curiosity sparked in Fabi’s eyes. “What did she donate? Do you know?”

“This vase.” I pointed behind her.

Her brows rose. “Oh? I thought it looked interesting.”

She pushed away from me and tutted at the vase. “I didn’t expect to see this type of ceramic here. This looks like it was made in—” She skimmed her index finger over the plaque beside it. “Grottaglie.”

“You know the place?”

“I’ve visited once. Solo trip, if you don’t count the bodyguards Rafe insisted I take. It’s a small town in southern Italy where they make lots of ceramics. This vase is interesting because the items they sell are usually relatively inexpensive. So the fact that the starting bid is twenty thousand dollars is unusual.”

A museum attendant who stood nearby overheard her. “You’re exactly right. This piece is special because of the workshop it comes from. Emilio Quaranta. It was only in operation for five years before a fire broke out that killed Quaranta and destroyed the factory. He’s known for producing some of the finest pieces in the town’s history.”

“So they’re rare. Well, that explains the price.” She walked around the vase, assessing it from every angle. “Beautiful. Do you have the provenance details available for this piece?”

The man looked down at his iPad. “The donor’s anonymous, but we do have some information in the notes here. They have one of the biggest collections of Quaranta’s pieces in the world. This piece was acquired by the donor from a local collector in Grottaglie about five years ago. The name of the collector isn’t specified.”

“Five years ago?” Fabiana muttered to herself. “Okay, thank you.”

“What?” I asked as she pulled me aside.

“Whoever sold this piece to the Santoros might be able to help you. Five years is a long time, but a sale like this would be remembered, especially if the donor is known in Grottaglie as a big buyer.”

“You think the people in this town might be able to help us find them?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea, but I think it’s possible.”

I stared at her, stunned. It was a lead. A name. A place.

“Cosimo? You okay?”

I was already pulling out my phone. “We’re done here tonight. I need to make a call. Meet me at the entrance in five.”

CHAPTER 30

FABIANA

My foot tapped out a nervous rhythm as I waited for Cosimo by the museum entrance.

The thought of spending the next thirty minutes trapped in the car with him made my body buzz all over. It was the same car I’d sat in only a few weeks ago when he’d hiked up my skirt and written three words on my bare skin with a pen.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to survive the ride, let alone the next five and a half months beside a man who was still insisting things were simple between us.

He was lying to me. He was lying to himself. Soon enough, these fragile lies wouldn’t be enough to protect us from ourselves.

My phone rang. The name on the caller ID made my stomach bunch into knots.

Vita.

Why was she calling me?

I hadn’t seen her since the wedding. Even then, we’d only exchanged a quick greeting. I’d spent most of the evening by Cosimo’s side, and she didn’t approach him once. Just like at the funeral.

I lifted my gaze from the screen, searching the crowd for Cosimo, but I couldn’t find him. What if Vita was calling because something had happened? To Rom, to Alessio… Maybe she’d tried to reach Cosimo, and he was ignoring her calls.

He didn’t want me talking to her, but I could answer a call. I’d tell him about it as soon as he came back.

I picked up. “Hello?”

“Fabiana, I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound as steady as it usually did. It was slightly reedy, as if she’d been crying. How much of that could I trust? After what Cosimo had told me about her, I knew she was manipulative and cunning.

I kept my guard up.

“I’ve been meaning to make this call for a while now, but I couldn’t find the right time. And… Well, judging by the way you’ve avoided me since my husband’s death, I figured Cosimo must’ve told you he and I haven’t been seeing things eye to eye recently.”

“He did.” Where was she going with this?

“My son is upset I’m making a bid to get the position instead of him, and I’m afraid this rift between us has gotten out of hand. At the end of the day, we both just want what’s best for the family.”

The position? What position?

Realization trundled through me.

Vita wanted to be the next don. What else could she mean? She wanted to lead the family instead of Cosimo.

My God. He hadn’t told me that.

“I’m appealing to you woman to woman,” Vita said. “Cosimo might listen to you when it comes to this. His brothers are… Well, they’re men blinded by their egos. You’re different.”

Unease slid down my spine as my mind raced to keep up. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“When we spoke at lunch all those months ago about your expectations for the marriage, I could tell that some of the things I said didn’t land well. I told you this marriage was first and foremost a political alliance, and that you’d be smart not to hope for more.” She paused. “But my perspective has shifted.”

I frowned, my grip tightening on the phone. Her perspective had shifted?

“Now that Gino is gone…” She sighed. “Losing him has cracked me open. It’s made me reconsider some things. I failed my sons in my attempts to prepare them for their roles. There is nothing more important than our relationships with those we love.” Her breath trembled. “And I taught Cosimo otherwise.”

She sounded so sincere. So remorseful. But I wasn’t buying it. She was working up to whatever it was she wanted from me.

“I saw how Cosimo looked at you at the wedding,” she continued. “My son feels something for you, Fabiana. I think, given the chance, he could find the same kind of strong, enduring love with you that I had with his father.”

Inside my chest, something twinged. God, she was good. She’d picked up on exactly what I’d wanted back when we first spoke, and now she was dangling the possibility of me getting it right in front of me.

“But the life of a don is a difficult one. And once he takes control of the family, I’m afraid his duty will crowd out anything that could bloom between you.”

She paused, letting her words linger. I rolled my lips. “What are you saying, Vita?”

“He thinks I’m trying to steal his birthright, but I’m only trying to give him a chance to experience love before the weight of leading the family crushes that possibility. Convince him to put his ambitions on hold for two years, and you can have the relationship you dream of.”

There it was. The ask. Framed as a favor she was doing for me and Cosimo, because Vita Ferraro was incapable of selfish acts. That’s what she wanted me to think. Did she really think I’d buy it?

She must think I’m an idiot.

A gullible idiot.

A bitter anger dripped into my bloodstream.

“You make it sound like it’s impossible to lead the family and have a strong marriage. I wonder how your husband managed to do both.”

“Gino still made room for other things in his life. Cosimo doesn’t. All I’m asking is for you to talk to him. To make him understand what he stands to lose.”

Across the atrium, a familiar figure cut through the crowd.

Cosimo’s gaze found mine and held it as he approached. He stopped right in front of me, close enough to hear the next words out of my mouth.

The noise of the gala seemed to recede, until all I could hear was my pounding heartbeat.

“Vita,” I said.

Something flashed in his eyes. For a moment, I thought he might take the phone from me, but he didn’t. He just stood there listening.

“As you so wisely explained to me at our lunch, my duty is to Cosimo, and his duty is to the family,” I said.

“I did say that⁠—”

“You were exactly right.”

A notch appeared between Cosimo’s brows.

“I have no intention of trying to sway him or influence him on your behalf. It’s completely inappropriate of you to call me with this. In less than a month, he’ll be the don. If you really want to help him, you’ll find other ways of making yourself useful to the family without trying to interfere with his claim.”

Cosimo didn’t blink. He stood there, silent and unmoving, while a storm brewed inside his eyes.

Vita cleared her throat. “You misunderstand my intention.”

“I didn’t misunderstand anything. Cosimo told me everything I need to know about you. He told me how you’ve used women in his past to spy on him.”

“Spy on him?” Her voice changed. “That’s not⁠—”

“That’s exactly what you did. I don’t know what kind of power games you’re playing, but I won’t be your pawn, and I will certainly not be your willing helper.”

Cosimo’s jaw tightened, as if it cost him something not to interfere.

On the other end of the line, Vita had grown silent. For a moment, all I could hear clearly was the rush of adrenaline-driven blood inside my ears. Standing up to the Ferraro matriarch wasn’t easy.

“You stupid girl.” There was no waver in her voice anymore. Only poison. “One day you’ll regret squandering this opportunity to make yourself useful to me.”

Ice crawled through my veins. How quickly the mask had come off.

“You won’t be able to hold his attention for long, and when he moves on, don’t come crawling to me for help. You won’t find it.”

“I won’t need it,” I said quietly.

“You won’t survive a year in this world without powerful allies in the family. Maybe after all those years abroad, you’ve become too soft and too naive to understand how this all works.”

I swallowed past the burning in my throat. “Don’t call me again.”

I hung up with trembling hands.

Cosimo just stared at me. If it weren’t for the faint pulse beating at the base of his throat, he might as well have been made of granite. “Let’s go.”

Somehow, despite knowing Vita’s game in advance, her words had still found their mark.

I didn’t need to survive a year. I didn’t need to hold Cosimo’s interest. And maybe I was soft and naive, but I’d be gone in six months. Living a life far removed from this one. Living on my own terms.

Good. Great.

Her words should’ve rolled right off me.

And yet they burrowed deep inside like poisoned arrows and festered with each passing minute.

It didn’t help that Cosimo hadn’t said a thing to me since we’d gotten into the car. We were almost home. He wore a brooding expression as he stared ahead, apparently comfortable in the silence I found suffocating.

Wasn’t there anything he wanted to say to me? I didn’t stand up to Vita to get his approval, but I also didn’t expect to get the silent treatment in the aftermath.

My hands were clenched in my lap, my body tense and uncomfortable beneath the aquamarine dress. By the time we parked in the driveway, I was so desperate to get out of the car that I didn’t wait for him to come around to help me out. I just bolted inside.

The house was empty and quiet as I stumbled into the foyer. I kicked my heels off and moved toward the stairs.

A warm palm encircled my wrist. “Wait.”

“What do you want, Cosimo?” I snapped, my nerves too frayed to keep it cool.

“You’re not going to give me a lecture?” His voice was low. Hoarse.

“A lecture?”

“For not telling you Vita is after the position of don.”

I turned. There was only a small floor lamp illuminating the foyer, and it painted his face in dark shadows. My anger sizzled and burned through my insides. “Why would I? With a mother like her, I get why you have trust issues.”

His stony expression cracked, but I was too annoyed to parse through what was hiding beneath it. It was true. I wasn’t angry that he hadn’t told me about the succession issue. But it annoyed me that even now, after seeing me stand up to Vita, his response was to just keep shutting me out.

His throat worked. “You shouldn’t make her into an enemy.”

I tore my wrist out of his grip. “Who’s lecturing who? You know, you could at least give me a nod of acknowledgment for standing up for you.”

“I appreciate you doing that, but it was not necessary. She’s dangerous, Fabiana.”

My frustration spilled over. “And I’m too naive and soft to handle her, right? Is that what you really want to say? Guess what, that’s at least one thing the two of you agree on.”

His gaze narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean? She said that to you?”

“Forget it.” I moved, but he appeared in front of me, blocking my way.

“What did she say?” he demanded.

“Cosimo, I’m tired,” I snapped. “It’s been a long night.”

“Tell me what she said. You’re obviously upset.”

I couldn’t do this anymore. I needed to get away from him. “Fine,” I spat. “She said that I won’t be able to hold your attention for long. She’s right, but it doesn’t matter. She has no idea this is all fake. Happy? Now can you please let me pass?”

His gaze flashed with contempt. “Can’t hold my attention?” Instead of stepping out of my way, he stepped toward me, forcing me to step back. “Can’t hold my attention?”

The anger in his voice stunned me.

“You’ve done nothing but hold my fucking attention since the day we met.”

I retreated on instinct, my bare feet moving against the cold tile floor, seeking to maintain some distance between us. Failing. The man was moving toward me like a freight train.

My back hit the wall.

His palms landed on either side of my head. “My father’s dead. His killers are still on the loose. I’m trying to keep everything running while my mother is trying to steal the family from me. And yet do you know what I find myself thinking about most often?” The contempt had morphed into something hotter, something that burned across my flesh. “You.”

“I don’t believe you.” My voice shook. Inside me, a confused hurricane raged. I told myself he was lying to make me feel better, but that didn’t make sense.

And if he was telling the truth…

Oh God. I was screwed.

His laugh was bitter. “I think about you all the fucking time. I walk through my front door and see your shoes. I go into my bathroom and smell your shampoo. I try to eat in peace, and there are your little mugs on the counter, reminding me you’re here. You’re fucking everywhere. Inescapable. Even in my dreams, I can’t escape you. If only you knew how fucking pretty you look inside them, spread eagle on my bed, not a stitch of clothing on that body. And every fucking day, I feel it more and more. That urge to make you mine the way a real husband would.”

He stepped into me, pressed his hard body against my curves, and brought our faces close together. “That’s how thoroughly you’ve been holding my fucking attention. Still don’t believe me?”

My breaths were no more than harsh puffs of air. I was playing with fire, but I didn’t care if I got burned. “No.”

An angry huff. A palm around my throat. A muttered, “Fuck it.”

And then his mouth came crashing down on mine.

CHAPTER 31

COSIMO

There was only so much a man could take before he snapped, and I was well past my limit.

Fabiana had been testing my sanity from the start, but tonight, she’d pushed me clean over the edge. If I didn’t have her—if I didn’t do something drastic to quiet this obsession—I’d never be the fucking don. I’d throw myself off a cliff just to get her out of my goddamn mind.

The fact that Vita had somehow managed to get under her skin was laughable. If it weren’t for Fabiana’s incomprehensible insecurities, she would’ve realized by now that somewhere between the engagement party and the altar, she’d managed to put me on a leash.

I was so fucking stupid for this woman.

There’d been a small chance the night wouldn’t end like this, but then I’d heard her put Vita in her place. No one had ever done that for me. Not even my own father. Her standing up for me like that had cracked something open inside me.

As I’d driven us home, I’d tried to think of some way to keep myself from her tonight, and I’d come up blank. I’d been so absorbed with my dilemma that I’d somehow missed her stewing a foot away from me.

But all our fight had done was burn away the last of my restraint.

I tightened my grip on her neck and deepened the kiss, pushing my tongue into her mouth. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a conquering. A claiming long overdue.

For a second, she retreated.

Then her tongue tangled with mine, and her hands balled into fists in my jacket as she yanked me closer. Had she fantasized about this as obsessively as I had? Highly unlikely. For all the talk of her naivete, when it came to us, she was the sensible one, while I’d been the one slowly losing my mind.

I shoved my leg between hers, pressing it hard enough against her mound to drag a moan from her. Her delicate throat trembled beneath my hand. I pulled back and then dove in again, pulling on her bottom lip with my teeth before doing the same to the top.

I was so fucking hard for her already. She writhed against me, rubbing herself against my thigh with an eagerness that turned me on even more.

I let go of her throat and broke the kiss to drag my mouth to a spot on her neck. Every lick and every nip made her tremble more. My palm swiped over her shoulder, and I hooked my fingers into the dress that was really starting to annoy me. I pulled it down her arm as far as I could and kissed the newly exposed flesh while she rode my thigh.

“Fuck, Nettle. You gonna come for me from that alone?” I growled against her shoulder.

“Maybe,” she panted.

I pulled my leg back a few inches. She made a frustrated sound and glared at me, but she calmed down when I dropped to my knees.

I shoved the dress with all its fucking feathers up to her waist, took her hands, and forced them closed around the bunched-up fabric. “Hold that for me.”

There was nothing but a tiny slip of fabric left covering her. I dragged my tongue over the front of it, then I curled my fist into the side of the thong and snapped it off her with a sharp pull.

She sucked in a harsh breath.

I looked up. Swiped my palms up the backs of her thighs. “Spread your legs, Nettle. Let me show you how attentive I can be.”

She held my gaze as she took a small step to each side, exposing herself to me. Her pussy was pink and slick with her wetness. I dragged my palm over my mouth, just looking. Getting my fucking fill. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” I muttered.

And then I dove in. I traced her clit with my tongue, pulled it into my mouth, sucked on it. The taste of her coated my tongue—salt and something sweeter.

Her little gasps and moans imprinted themselves into my memory, and I realized that whatever relief I’d hoped tonight would bring would be short-lived. I’d only have more things to obsess over now.

I dug my fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs, holding her steady as I dragged my mouth lower, sliding my tongue inside her entrance. She whimpered, her hips jerking forward.

“That’s it,” I growled.

My cock throbbed against my trousers, aching, but I ignored it. This wasn’t about me. Not yet. Not until she broke for me.

I lapped at her until her body began to coil with tension. I slid two fingers inside her sopping folds just in time. She clenched around me with a broken sob, and then she folded over, grabbing hold of my head to keep herself from falling.

I curled my fingers inside her, drawing the orgasm out until her moans quieted.

The air stilled.

I drew my fingers out and brought them to my lips.

She watched me taste her with hooded eyes. “I forgot how much I liked seeing you on your knees,” she teased.

Amusement tugged on me. I gave her cunt a light slap, pulled her down to the floor with me, and smacked her ass for good measure. It earned me a sharp gasp. I swallowed it with my mouth and rolled us over.

For the next few minutes, we just kissed, her body beneath mine. I’d always thought kissing was overrated, but that was before I’d kissed her. There was something so earnest about the way she kissed me… It threatened to undo me.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I pushed myself up on my arms and took in the view of her. Her lips were pink and swollen, her hair a little wrecked, her dress deliciously askew. The dazed, sated look inside her emerald gaze made something terribly needy rear up in me. I wanted to see her like this over and over again, and I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I couldn’t.

I slid a hand inside the front of her dress and wrapped it around a soft breast. Her nipples were peaked, desperate for contact, and when I rolled my thumb over it, her back arched.

“Oh God.”

I wanted those tits in my mouth, but this goddamn dress didn’t have enough give.

Frustrated, I gave it a harsh jerk.

Rip.

It slid down, freeing her just the way I wanted.

“Cosimo. The dress,” Fabiana hissed, sounding panicked. “It’s expensive.”

“It was in my way.” My mouth moved from her cheek to her neck, trailed a path over her collarbone and down to her chest. My teeth caught a nipple, and I sucked it into my mouth.

“You’re… Ooooh⁠—”

Whatever protest she was about to stage died on the tip of her tongue. Dress forgotten, she moaned and moved her hands into my hair, tugging me closer. I gladly obliged. I could spend hours just playing with her tits if she’d let me, but she didn’t.

Instead, she slipped her hand between us and gave me a stroke through my pants.

I groaned.

When she did it again, I knew I wouldn’t last long. “Stop,” I ground out. It’d been three years, and there was a good chance I’d blow right inside my slacks if she kept going.

She stopped, but only to unbuckle my belt and unzip me. I shoved my slacks down over my ass, so fucking hot for her I could barely think straight.

She pulled the dress back up around her waist and opened up her legs for me. Something shy flashed inside her gaze, but it didn’t linger. It hardened into something more sure, more wanting.

I held myself above her, my cock hard as it bobbed between us. I wanted to be inside her so badly I ached, but as I stared down at her, I faltered. I wanted everything I could get from her, but some stubborn part of me rebelled at the thought of taking what she’d saved all these years on the floor of a foyer in a house that would stop being hers in five months.

I’m a good Italian girl. I’ve been saving myself for marriage.

A marriage. Not a six-month deal.

She’d regret it tomorrow. And no matter how badly I wanted her—and God, I wanted her—I wanted to avoid hurting her even more.

I grabbed my cock and worked it, angling it at her inner thigh.

Five, six pumps was all it took. I came on her leg and the ruined dress in a burst of pleasure so intense it briefly blinded me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my forehead to hers, and panted ragged breaths against her lips until the world came back.

When I pushed off her, I found her looking at me with furrowed brows. “Why didn’t you…” She trailed off. Swallowed.

“Your first time shouldn’t be wasted on me. Save it for your second husband.”

Her expression turned stony. She pushed at my chest until I rolled off her. “How thoughtful of you.” She sat up. Pulled the ruined dress to her chest. Then she got to her feet without another word and walked toward the stairs.

I stayed where I was and watched her go.

The house settled around me. Just the dark foyer and the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, and then nothing. I braced my elbows on my knees and dragged a hand through my hair.

She was angry with me. Fine. It was better that way. If I’d done what every cell in my body had pushed me to do, I would’ve woken up tomorrow with her looking at me like I’d taken something that wasn’t mine to take.

We’d stepped over a line tonight.

But that was as far as we’d go.

CHAPTER 32

FABIANA

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing that greeted me was a feathered aquamarine dress in a puddle on the ground.

Shit.

It took a few seconds to convince myself that what had happened the night before wasn’t a dream. A shiver ran through me as the memories rushed back all at once, vivid and disorienting. I could still feel the scrape of Cosimo’s beard against my inner thighs, the grip of his hand around my neck, the slow, warm drag of his lips over my breast.

But he’d stopped. Stopped before we took it all the way.

I sat up in bed and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.

I hadn’t asked him to stop. I hadn’t even wanted him to. I’d been ready last night. More than ready. I was twenty-five years old, married, and tired of being a virgin. I’d always said I wanted my first time to be with someone who knew the real me.

Cosimo did.

Actually, the man appeared to think he knew me better than I knew myself.

Save it for your second husband.

Irritation rolled through me. That wasn’t his decision to make.

But it told me something all the same. For all the thinking he’d apparently been doing about me, he still viewed me as temporary. When the time came, he was prepared to let me go.

I wished I could say the same with confidence. But I couldn’t.

Because this wasn’t just physical for me anymore. Not even close.

I…liked Cosimo.

I liked the way he spoke with actions rather than words. If you weren’t paying close enough attention, you’d miss what he was really saying.

But I paid attention.

I paid attention to the moments of unexpected empathy. To the instinctual way he’d jumped in to protect me. To the pain he carried from all the past betrayals.

He was a complicated man, and some part of me wanted to keep unraveling all that complexity, even if he didn’t make it easy.

His actions told me he felt something for me too. But maybe both things could be true. Maybe he could have feelings for me and still be ready to walk away when the six months were up.

A small ache opened beneath my ribs. I pulled my knees to my chest and looked at the window. What was I going to do now? At this point, there was no clean way through this. No way to avoid getting hurt. Maybe I was better off not fighting it. Maybe I should just enjoy whatever these next five months with him turned out to be instead of drawing lines in the sand only to watch them wash away.

I climbed back under the covers and took Gino’s journal from the nightstand. It was the closest thing I had to distract me from my thoughts.

I opened on a random page and found a careful rendering of what looked like an idyllic home in the Italian countryside. Olive trees grew to the side of it, and beds of lavender bloomed up front. In most of the other sketches, there weren’t any people, but he’d drawn a whole crowd here. Three elderly women sat at a table beside one of the olive trees, while a young boy who’d climbed into the branches watched them from above. In front of the house was a table filled with people having supper. And just to their left, three more boys played in the grass. They all wore sweaters with a letter on their backs.

A. R. C.

Alessio. Romolo. Cosimo. Gino’s children.

Under the drawing, he’d written a short line. “I hope that one day my sons will visit Villa Lucente, the place where I’d spent many happy summers.”

I flipped through a few more pages and then forced myself to get up. Mia and I had agreed to meet up for an early afternoon pottery class, and I had to start getting ready.

Maybe she’d be able to give me some advice.

“Feel the clay breathe under your hands,” the instructor called out from across the studio.

Mia and I sat side by side working on our vases. I was using both hands to coax a little more shape into the neck of mine. Beside me, Mia’s work in progress spun with a worrying lean to the right.

“This is so much harder than it looks,” she said, dipping her hand into the water bucket before trying to steady the walls of her vase. “Yours looks incredible. I hate you.”

“I’ve had more practice.” I grabbed a paintbrush, dipped it into a green-colored slip, and touched it to the vase. I let it drift down slowly so that the walls got an even coating.

Mia groaned. Her vase had collapsed.

The instructor—an elderly woman with pink hair and round glasses that I adored—appeared at Mia’s wheel with a sympathetic tut. “Just try again, flower. Remember the centering is everything. Tuck your elbow into your torso. You want to be almost leaning into the clay. Push with the base of your hand, and get that nice seal on the bottom by pressing your pinky finger right into the base.”

For a second, it looked like Mia had it. Then the whole lump lurched sideways and slid half off the wheel.

“Why doesn’t yours ever do that?” she demanded, glaring at my nearly finished vase.

“Don’t worry about anyone else’s progress,” the instructor advised. “You must learn the fundamentals before you can move on to the next step. Your wheel’s too wet. Wipe it down until it’s dry and start again.”

I waited until she moved on before glancing at Mia. “When things first started with you and Romolo, how did you decide to go for it? You must have assumed there was no future there given the family he’s from.”

Mia blew out a breath. “God, that feels like forever ago. So much has changed since then. But, yeah, in the beginning, I told myself it was just a fling. We both did. We were hung up on each other, and it was driving us crazy, so Romolo basically suggested we get it out of our systems.”

I stared at her. “And you went for it?” It sounded too pragmatic for my friend. I could see Zo or even Nina agreeing to something like that, but Mia was more like me—far more likely to get in trouble because of her feelings.

She gave me a sheepish smile. “I know. It wasn’t like me. But something about Rom was just…different. I was already torturing myself trying to stay away from him, so I thought maybe I could torture myself in a more enjoyable way.” Her grin widened. “And we both clearly enjoyed it too much, because now he’s talking about proposing.”

I gasped. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He’s been looking at rings. He doesn’t think I know, but he left his iPad lying around one day, and when I picked it up to look at a recipe, I saw it. He’s designing a custom ring.”

“Oh my God, Mia. I’m so happy for you.” I really was. After everything that Mia’s dad had put her through, she deserved to be outrageously happy. “Are you going to say yes?”

She blushed. “Yeah. I’m not getting rid of him. The other day, he took forever to get ready for brunch, so I told him I was ditching him. He came out buttoning his shirt and said, ‘Try it. See how far you get.’ Don’t know why that kind of turned me on.”

I giggled. “I get it.”

“But why are you asking? Something to do with your husband? Have things been warming up between you two?”

Carefully, I lifted my vase off the wheel. “Things have definitely changed compared to a few months ago.”

Mia looked pleased. “Well, that’s good, right? Your situation is completely different from mine. You and Cosimo are already married.”

“Yeah, but the marriage started off as just business,” I said. “And I wonder if it’s better to let it stay that way.”

“If you’re starting to feel things for him, I think you should lean into it,” Mia said. “Give it a proper chance. If you stay guarded the whole time, you might never find out how good it could be. There’s no reason to hold back.”

I bit down on my lip. No reason besides the fact that no matter what was starting to happen between Cosimo and me, there was no long-term future here.

He might want me physically. He might even like certain parts of me. But I’d never been confused about one thing—he would never want me as his wife. The real kind. He’d made that abundantly clear.

“Do you think a don’s wife can afford to be this gullible?”

I was still that girl. Still too trusting. Still too eager to give people chances. And the more of myself I gave to Cosimo, the more it would hurt when it ended. “I guess it’s just a bit scary.”

Mia nodded. “I get that. But you have to be brave sometimes.”

I was still trying to figure out what bravery was supposed to look like when Mia gave me a sly little smile. “By the way, I had a feeling you were going to ask me something like this.”

“Why?”

“Romolo mentioned that you and Cosimo are going on a honeymoon.”

I blinked. We were?

“He told me Cosimo canceled a bunch of meetings because he’s going to Italy for a few days, and I made the obvious assumption.”

Something inside me sank. Cosimo hadn’t said a word to me about it.

Wait. Italy? He was going to Italy?

Grottaglie. He was going there. Without me.

What. The. Hell.

“You have to send me pictures,” Mia said, too distracted by her vase to notice the expression on my face.

I grabbed a towel and wiped my hands. “Mia, I have to go. I’m sorry. I just remembered something urgent at home.”

She looked up and frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yep. Fine. I’ll call you later.”

The next moment, I rushed out the door and slid into the car waiting for me outside. “Is Cosimo at his office?”

The driver met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Boss’s home.”

“Great. Take me there. Quickly.”

If Cosimo thought he could fly to Italy to chase down a lead I got him without so much as telling me, he was about to find out otherwise.

CHAPTER 33

COSIMO

The heat of the sauna pressed in on me from every angle. I inhaled, bringing the familiar scent of wood, eucalyptus, and pine deep into my lungs. I held the breath for a few seconds before⁠—

The door of the sauna burst open, interrupting my ritual. I was about to snap at whichever staff member had forgotten the rules—that no one was allowed here outside of the maintenance hour—but when I opened my eyes, the words froze on my tongue.

It wasn’t one of the maids. It was my wife. And she appeared to be furious.

“Explain yourself,” Fabiana demanded.

I eyed the winter coat she had on. Why was she wearing that? She couldn’t possibly still be cold in the house. I’d cranked the temperature up after she complained.

Wait. She was supposed to be at pottery class. Her schedule sat printed on my desk, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t due back for at least another thirty minutes.

She’d left early. Come straight home. Hadn’t even taken off her coat before storming in here.

And whatever had put that look on her face was clearly my fault.

Shit.

I had a strong suspicion what this was about. But I wasn’t going to throw myself under the bus on the off chance I was wrong. “I have no idea what you mean,” I drawled.

“What are you doing, Cosimo?”

I looked down at myself. “Sweating.”

“Don’t play dumb. I don’t have the patience for it right now. You’re going to Italy. Tomorrow.”

So she knew. Irritation flickered through me. “Who told you?”

“Mia. Romolo informed her of your plans.”

“Son of a bitch.” Of course he fucking had. The king of secrets appeared to be incapable of keeping any where that girl was concerned.

“You’re unbelievable,” Fabiana said. “You were going to chase down a lead that I got you, and you weren’t even going to tell me about it?”

“I was going to tell you.” I leaned forward and placed my elbows on my knees. A bead of sweat slid from the tip of my nose and dropped to the bench. “Eventually.”

“When?” She planted her palms on her hips. “After you came back?”

I mean, yeah. That had been the plan before Rom had to go out and ruin it with his big mouth. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t.” She tore her coat off and dropped it on the floor by the door. “Mia thinks you’re taking me on a honeymoon. And I guess she’s right, because I’m coming with you.”

I shook my head. “You’re not coming.” It was out of the question. If this Santoro lead panned out, there was a chance things could get dangerous. Grottaglie might’ve looked like a quaint little Italian village when I looked it up earlier today, but I knew better than to take that at face value. If the town was connected to the Santoros the way other Italian towns were sometimes connected to dangerous families, I could be walking into a trap.

I could handle myself. But having Fabiana in tow? It just wasn’t worth the risk.

She uncoiled the scarf from around her neck and tossed it toward her coat. “You need me there with you.”

“I’m more than capable of handling the situation on my own.”

She scoffed. “No, you’re not. Goddamn it, Cosimo. Ceramics is the one thing I actually know better than you! Us being there on a honeymoon is the perfect cover story. I can say I’ve dreamt of owning some Quaranta pieces, and so you’ve brought me there to try and find some. That’s the kind of story that might actually get the artisans and workshop owners to talk to us. Otherwise, you’re just some random nosy guy asking them invasive questions about one of their important patrons. Why would they tell you anything?”

My jaw firmed. She had a point, but I wasn’t going to risk her safety for a cover story. No way. “I’m the underboss, Fabiana. You think this is my first rodeo? I’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t.” She pushed up the sleeves of her cashmere sweater. I didn’t know how she was still standing in here in that and a pair of jeans. I’d cranked up the burner to the max when I came in. “You’ll come back empty-handed, and by then, it’ll be too late for you to realize that I was right all along.”

I assessed her. Her eyes burned with determination, and the notch between her brows told me she was digging in for a drawn-out fight.

But the environment was working against her. Her forehead glistened, and drops of sweat were already rolling down her temples.

I eyed the thermometer on the wall. It was over one hundred and eighty degrees. “Let’s talk later. You’re going to overheat.” I’d be on a jet to Italy in less than twenty-four hours. With luck, the next time we spoke would be after I got back.

“Later? I don’t think so. I’m guessing you’re going to try and leave without saying goodbye, and the next time I’ll see you will be after you’ve returned.”

I frowned. When had I become so transparent to her? “This conversation is over.”

“It’s absolutely not.”

Annoyance pulsed inside my chest. Why wouldn’t she just leave it alone?

I reached for the ladle in the water bucket and tossed a scoop onto the stones. It hit with a sharp hiss, and steam surged up to fill the room. The heat bit sharply at my skin.

It was a cheap trick. I was trying to flush her out of here. I heard Fabiana make an annoyed huff, but I couldn’t see her through the thick cloud of steam for a few seconds. When it receded, my gaze narrowed.

“What are you doing?”

She tossed her sweater at me. Then her T-shirt. My gaze dragged over her yellow bra while she glowered at me, all fierce and beautiful, and unbuttoned her jeans. “Regulating my temperature.”

This fucking woman.

My gaze dropped to her hips as she shimmied out of the jeans and kicked them toward the door. She wore matching yellow panties underneath, and the sight of them made me want to pin her beneath me and show her that our mouths could be put to far better use than arguing with each other.

I ignored the rush of blood to my cock and forced myself to focus. “Fabiana, enough.”

She moved toward me, seeming completely undeterred by the sharp edge in my tone. “I’m getting really tired of you making decisions for me.”

“When have I ever made decisions for you?”

“Last night. I didn’t want you to stop. I didn’t ask you to.”

The indignation in her voice caught me off guard. I’d told myself she’d wake up relieved. That by morning, she’d see I’d done her a favor.

Apparently not.

“You really wanted me to fuck you on the floor in the foyer?” I ground out.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

My teeth clenched.

She had no idea what hearing that did to me.

Or maybe she did. The things I’d so stupidly confessed to her last night must’ve painted her a clear picture. At this point, no amount of sharp words and clipped responses would be enough to disguise the fact that I wanted her too much and too often and in ways that were becoming harder to manage.

“You deserve better than that,” I said, hoping to make her see reason. Hoping that she’d once again be the sensible one.

But all she did was cock a mocking brow. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don’t want losing my virginity to be something draped in ceremony and put on a pedestal?” She stepped onto the lower bench, putting herself right between my legs. “That maybe I just want to get it over with?”

I tipped my head back, meeting her gaze. “If that’s what you wanted, you could’ve done it long ago.”

She lifted her hand and raked her fingers slowly through my hair. “I wasn’t married then. I am now.” Her fingers traced over the shell of my ear. “Sure, it’s only for six months, but as far as I’m concerned, it counts.”

I watched her with hooded eyes, my body abuzz from her touch. I swear, all she needed to do was breathe in my direction, and I got hard.

She leaned down, giving me a glimpse of her cleavage before she pressed her lips to my ear. “You told me you wanted to make me your wife the way a real husband would. I didn’t take you for a tease.”

A rough laugh tore out of me. I’d never been accused of being a fucking tease before.

“Or maybe you’re just too scared.”

“Careful, Nettle,” I warned. My gaze drifted back to her tits as she straightened back up. I had to clench my fists to keep myself from reaching for her. From pulling her into my lap. “Three years is a long time.”

“Three years? Try a lifetime.”

I tracked a drop of sweat running over her taut stomach before it disappeared at the edge of her panties. “You think it was easy for me to stop last night?”

“Didn’t seem like it was that hard.”

“You won’t be able to take it back.”

“Why do you think I would want to?”

Because once I have you, I won’t want to let you go.

The thought landed like a sharp blow. My gaze lifted back to her eyes, to those emerald pools that were now darkened with desire, and I knew it then.

She wanted to fuck me once. But I wanted to keep her forever.

The asymmetry would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

But here was the thing with denying your wants long enough—you got good at it. I’d had over a decade of practice.

Give her what she wants. Then suffer the consequences.

If that was the price I had to pay, I’d pay it.

“Fine,” I bit out even as every instinct for self-preservation screamed at me to stop. A cocktail of anger, frustration, and arousal churned through me with relentless force. “You don’t want to make this into a ceremony? Then get on my fucking lap.” The words came out rough. It was one final attempt to scare her off.

Instead, she looked at me like she’d just been handed exactly what she wanted.

“Gladly.”

She reached down, unwound the towel from my waist, and spread it open across the bench.

The next thing I knew, she was on top of me.

And just like that, the last of my restraint snapped.

CHAPTER 34

FABIANA

The next time he met my eyes, I knew I’d won. Want—greedy and impatient—swirled inside Cosimo’s blue gaze. This game between us would leave me ruined in the end, but I would savor taking this round.

When I first stormed into the sauna, I didn’t know we’d end up here, but one look at him in just that towel, and the pang of lust had been so sharp, it had stolen my breath away. I’d done my best to stay angry at him, to put up an argument about Italy, but half of my mind had been on something else.

On us tangled in each other.

His perfect muscled body dripped with sweat as he lifted his hands and buried them in my hair, tugging on it until I arched my neck. “You win, Nettle,” he said as if he’d read the traces of my triumph in my expression. “You fucking win. I’m going to fuck you so good that you’re going to think of me every time you’re with another man. I’ll leave you with a curse. Every time you fuck your future husband, it’ll be my face, my hands, and my cock that you will feel. You understand?”

Anticipation shrink-wrapped itself over my skin. “So confident,” I breathed. “Let’s see if you can deliver.”

His lips curved into a smirk.

And then he pulled me into a rough kiss.

His mouth moved against mine in a practiced rhythm that made my body ache with need. He pushed his tongue inside, teasing and tasting, while his hand slid up my ribs to cup my breast. He squeezed it—hard—then swiped a thumb back and forth over my perked-up nipple through my lace bra until sparks of electricity traveled straight toward my clit.

I moaned into his mouth, “More.”

“More what?” he demanded, a mocking lilt to his voice. “Want me to play with these tits some more? Or want me to play with this?” He dipped his hand into the front of my panties. I gasped as he pinched my clit and rolled it between his index finger and thumb. “So wet for me already. Good. I want you dripping, Fabiana. That cunt better be nice and slick for my cock.”

Jesus. I blinked at him, my vision hazy with the lust his dirty words had awakened in me. “Keep talking.”

“Hmm?” His fingers slid farther, probing my entrance. “What do you want me to say? You wanna know how many times I’ve imagined being inside this tight little cunt?” A finger slid inside. “How often I got myself off to just that?” Two fingers now. “Too many to count. You’ve tormented me for months.” He leaned in, his mouth hot against my ear. “I won’t be gentle.” Three.

I moaned. I should’ve been scared. At least a little worried. One look between us, and I knew that would be a tight fit even if this wasn’t my first time.

But maybe it was something about being inside the sauna that switched off my capacity for fear. Or maybe it was just him. Because no matter what filth he uttered, I felt safe with him.

I lifted my hand and dragged it over his jaw. “Do your worst.”

His gaze sparked with want and something a little exasperated, like he thought I should quiver in fear instead of egging him on. But then his fingers were gone from me, and he grabbed me by the backs of my thighs and tugged me into him. My core pressed down against his erection, and I groaned.

“Rub on me,” he growled.

My head rolled in a semicircle as I obeyed. Hearing this man order me around did things to me. I imagined he’d keep doing it, and the thought made me even hotter.

I rolled my hips, dragging the front of my panties over his shaft. Again. Again. He kept one hand on my waist to guide me while he reached behind me and unhooked my bra with the other. It fell away from my breasts, and he sucked in a harsh breath.

“Fuck.”

He held my gaze as he fondled me, his lips slightly parted, his face slack with need. He was sexy. So, so sexy. And I was so incredibly horny for him that it scared me. I didn’t think there was much he could order me to do that I wouldn’t do.

He dipped his head and pulled a nipple into his mouth. I was still rubbing up on him, a different kind of heat blooming inside of me.

So good, but I wanted more. I wanted everything. I wanted to know what it felt like to have this man touch me, lick me, and fuck me everywhere.

He might’ve been greedy for me, but I was ravenous for him. I’d been starving myself, and now I was being presented with the most decadent meal.

I hated every piece of fabric still on my body. I didn’t want there to be anything but him and the heat. “Cosimo, I’m ready,” I moaned when he moved his mouth to my other breast. “Please.”

He lifted his head and spoke the next words right against my mouth. “Please, what?”

“Please, fuck me.”

The next second, my panties were gone. Ripped right off me and tossed to the floor.

He grabbed his erection and ran the tip over my swollen pussy.

“You on the pill?”

“Implant,” I whispered as we both watched him moving himself back and forth against me.

He slipped into my opening and pushed in just an inch before pausing. I thought maybe he was going to ask me again if I was sure about this, but when I met his gaze, the dark desire in them took my breath away. There was no question. No hesitation left.

His hands dropped to my hips, and he pulled me lower with steady force.

Pain stabbed through me, and I winced.

He stopped. “Breathe.”

I took a breath and bore down on him, ignoring the pain even as it grew. I wanted this part done with. I⁠—

“Slow down,” he ground out. His body was tense with effort, as if staying still took everything out of him. “Christ.”

I panted and worked him into me inch by inch by inch.

“That’s it,” he murmured, eyes glued to the spot where he disappeared inside me. “You take me so well, Nettle. Like you were made for me.”

It was that last part that made me sink all the way down.

He groaned, and his head fell back against the wooden wall panel.

Pain throbbed inside my core, but it was giving way to a feeling of fullness. The heat softened my muscles and made everything hazy at the edges. With my next breath, I moved my hips, grinding on him.

Cosimo’s palms dug into my thighs. “Good girl.” His rough voice brushed over my skin like silk. He assessed me with a lazy, hooded gaze. “Use my cock, Nettle. Break yourself in for me.”

The wave of arousal that hit me was so hard I had to gasp for breath. Sweat dripped down my back, down my chest, down my arms as I obeyed his command. My hips and thighs worked as I slid up and down on his massive length, the ache between my legs fading to a distant memory as a deep, coiling pleasure began to build in its place.

He reached for my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “I think you might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. You gonna come on me, Nettle?”

I rode him harder. Faster. He began to thrust upward, hitting somewhere deep inside me. I arched my back and sank my nails into his massive shoulders as waves of pleasure began to hit.

“Oh God, oh my God,” I moaned. I was so close.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered.

I cracked my eyes open a millimeter and met his gaze. There were no walls left there. Just pure want and adoration, and God, it made me feel powerful.

Just as the big wave rushed through me, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and kissed me. The orgasm swept over me, obliterating every thought, every lingering worry, everything except for the feel of his lips.

He teased and tasted me like I was his favorite dessert while I quivered around him. And then he grabbed my hips and finished off inside me in three brutal thrusts that made me scream his name.

I blacked out. Or at least, that was what it felt like, because one moment we were in the sauna, and the next we were in the room beside it with the showers and the cold plunge.

He held me steady with one arm wrapped around my waist as he pulled me under the shower. I gasped when the cool water hit my skin. It felt incredible. I was still burning up. Beside me, Cosimo adjusted the knobs while water streamed over his body in rivulets.

My gaze dropped.

A few streaks of blood marred his groin, but the water was already washing them away.

Cosimo noticed me looking. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

I brushed his flat abdomen with my fingertips, then moved lower, trailing them over the length of his cock. He was half soft, but my touch made him twitch. “Yeah.”

He caught me by the wrist and brought my palm to his mouth. “Don’t. It’s done. You got what you wanted.”

What?

My gaze flew to his. He was trying so hard to hide it, but I could see the hint of vulnerability in his expression.

He thought all I’d wanted from him was to take my virginity.

How could a man as smart as him be so stupid?

I took him by surprise and shoved him against the shower wall. “You have no idea what I want.”

“You told me exactly what you wanted that night in my car.”

God, he was obsessed with that conversation. The one where he thought I’d told him all about my perfect man. A piece of fiction I’d created mostly to get a rise out of him.

The truth was that I’d barely even thought about the life I’d have after our marriage was done. What had sounded so enticing in the aftermath of me almost calling off our engagement had quickly lost its appeal.

Maybe I didn’t want freedom. Maybe I just wanted to be kept by the right man. And I was starting to think I was looking at him.

I flattened my palms against his tattooed chest. “You told me I’d be bored, remember?”

“You disagreed.”

“People change their minds, Cosimo.”

He cocked a brow. “Have you?”

My heart pounded hard inside my chest. This was my chance to tell him how I felt, but fear gripped me. I still didn’t know what was going through his head. Not really. And laying my heart out to him only to have him stomp all over it when we still had months of living with each other?

I was afraid it would kill me.

So I said, “I don’t know.”

His palms tightened on my hips. For a moment, I thought he’d shove me away. I was already readying myself for the pain of his rejection. But he didn’t.

Instead, his expression softened. Like he could sense my hidden fear.

He lifted me, forcing me to wrap my legs around him, and pressed me to the shower wall. He was hard again, and he entered me slowly. Intentionally.

This time when he fucked me, his eyes burned into mine the entire time. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he kissed me. His tongue slid into my mouth, tasting the inside. The kiss started off unhurried, but as his thrusts sped up, it became frantic. The way you kissed someone when you thought it might be the last time.

My throat tightened even as pleasure coiled inside me. I dug my nails into his back and held on for dear life as he screwed me into the shower wall. He thrust into me, hitting just the right spot. Everything in me was tightening into a single point and then—bliss.

He groaned against my lips as his own release swept through him.

Yes, I knew what I wanted now. I wanted this. I wanted him.

But wanting wasn’t the same as getting. Not even close.

CHAPTER 35

FABIANA

The next morning, I woke disoriented.

For a few slow seconds, all I could register was the soft weight of the blankets and the dull pain between my legs. Then memory crashed over me all at once.

The sauna. The shower. Cosimo’s mouth on mine, his hands sliding over my wet skin. The look in his eyes when he held me against the tile like he wanted to say something and couldn’t.

Panic hit a second later.

I twisted toward the clock on the nightstand. 8:12. Shit.

Cosimo had probably already left for Italy.

I yanked on the robe hanging off the bedpost and hurried through the connecting bathroom, still half tangled in sleep. After the shower, he’d toweled me off and brought me back to my room. I’d been so exhausted, so thoroughly spent, that I must’ve passed out the second my head hit the pillow. It couldn’t have been much later than seven o’clock, but I’d slept through the entire night.

His bedroom was empty. I turned and rushed downstairs, my bare feet thudding against the new runner I had installed on the steps. “Hello?” I called, but the house gave nothing back. The living room was empty. The dining room too. The silence made my heartbeat climb higher. I swear, if he’d left without me, I was going to kill him.

Then I heard it. A soft clatter from somewhere deeper in the house, probably the kitchen.

As I stormed in, relief hit so hard it almost made me dizzy.

Cosimo stood with his back to me by the coffee machine, one hand braced on the counter while he lifted the carafe with the other.

“You’re still here,” I breathed.

His shoulders went tight for half a second before he poured coffee into a mug. “I’m still here.”

I leaned against the doorjamb and willed my pulse to slow. A simple white T-shirt stretched over his muscular shoulders and back, and I wondered if my nails had left marks on him yesterday that still hadn’t faded.

Slowly, he turned.

My gaze dropped at once to the mug in his hand.

It was one of mine. Yellow daisies painted on a blue background that was close to the color of his eyes.

A small, stupid flutter moved through me. I thought of the neat rows of simple black mugs I’d seen lined up in the cupboard. He could’ve grabbed any one of those, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t.

I bit on my bottom lip. He registered the movement before his gaze drifted lower, skimming over my robe, dropping to my bare legs, then moving back to my face.

“How do you feel?”

The question caught me off guard. As a rule, Cosimo didn’t concern himself with other people’s feelings. It was so tempting to think I was an exception. That I mattered in a way no one else did.

God, I was down bad.

“Fine.” My face warmed as memories of last night flooded back again. “A little sore. But I’m sure that’ll fade by the end of the day.”

Something dark and heated moved through his expression. It was there and gone, quickly hidden behind that controlled expression of his before he gave a small nod.

He sipped on the coffee and watched me over the rim of the mug. “You were right.”

I stilled. “About what?”

“I shouldn’t make decisions for you. You’re an adult. If you want to come to Grottaglie with me, that’s your choice to make.”

I swallowed. So that was what he was talking about. Not yesterday or what it meant, but Italy and logistics.

Some small part of me wilted at that, though I told myself it was for the best. There was too much we still weren’t saying to each other. Maybe trying to untangle any of it now, before yesterday even had a chance to settle in my mind, would only make things worse.

Cosimo placed the mug on the counter. “Before you decide, I need you to understand something.”

The last traces of sleep drained out of me. “What is it?”

“I’m not taking any backup. It’s a small town, and I don’t want to raise any red flags.” His brows furrowed. “I don’t know what we’re walking into, Nettle. I can take care of myself, but with you, the equation changes.” His jaw clenched, and I understood it then.

He was worried about me.

A softness moved through me, warm and aching, even though I was confident he was worrying about nothing. I’d been to Grottaglie before. It was a quiet place. I doubted anyone there would pose a threat to us.

“It’ll be fine, Cosimo.”

His frown only deepened. “If you come, you do exactly what I tell you while we’re there. No wandering off. No improvising. If I tell you we need to leave, we leave. If I tell you to keep quiet, you keep quiet. Understood?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

He studied me for another beat, as if testing whether I really meant it. “Fine. We’ll leave later today. Pack a bag.”

He moved past me toward the doorway, and his shoulder brushed mine.

The contact was brief. Barely anything.

It still made my whole body go taut.

My fingers twitched at my side. For one reckless second, I thought about reaching for him. Catching his wrist. Pulling him back and pressing a kiss to his mouth just to see if he’d kiss me the way he had last night. Just to force something honest out into the open between us.

I didn’t.

Whatever had happened between us yesterday was going to have to be reckoned with eventually.

But not now.

Maybe right now, we just needed to get through Italy first.

We ended up leaving in the middle of the night after something at work delayed Cosimo. We landed in Italy that afternoon and drove straight to the hotel in Grottaglie his secretary had booked for us. It was a quaint Italian villa just outside the center of town, close enough to walk to the local sites and amenities. With its whitewashed walls, terracotta roof, and vines climbing one side, it looked like something out of a storybook.

“You have the honeymoon suite booked for three nights,” the girl at reception told us brightly. “That’s plenty of time to see everything our little town has to offer. Everything is closer than it looks on the map. If you want to walk to the town center or the ceramics quarter, it’s only about fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, taking the key she slid over the counter.

“Is there a second key?” Cosimo asked.

She shot him an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, no.”

“I don’t imagine we’ll be spending much time apart from each other, honey.” I looped my arm through Cosimo’s and laughed lightly. “He’s not going anywhere without me.”

“Right.” The receptionist beamed. “Well, unless you have any other questions, I’m happy to take you up to your room.”

“I’m hoping to shop for some ceramics while I’m here,” I said. “Do you know if any of the workshops are still open?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Since it’s Sunday, most places close early. But they’ll be open from nine to two tomorrow, and then again from five to eight, so you’ll have plenty of time to visit them.”

“Perfect.”

She led us upstairs to the second floor, opened a pair of double doors with a flourish, and stepped aside.

Wow. The room was definitely designed for romance. Rose petals were scattered across the floor. There was a bottle of champagne on ice and a card from the owner wishing us a lifetime of happiness. It had one bed, obviously, and it somehow looked smaller than a queen, though maybe that was just my imagination.

I bit down on the corner of my mouth. Thinking about how close Cosimo and I would be sleeping to each other for the next three nights sent a frisson of excitement through my body. If I was honest, I’d admit that I hoped we wouldn’t be just sleeping. Despite the long flight, we’d carefully avoided addressing what was happening between us.

But that didn’t change the fact that something had happened. And I wanted it to happen again.

I glanced over at Cosimo. He wore a pensive expression on his face as he took in the room. For one hopeful second, I assumed he was imagining the same things I was. Then his jaw tightened, and uncertainty crept in.

“I’ll leave you two to enjoy it,” the receptionist said before slipping out and shutting the door behind her.

I crossed to the small breakfast table by the window and set my purse down. “Cute, isn’t it?”

He grunted something unintelligible.

“I should probably go change.”

He nodded. “I’ve got some work to do.”

“No problem.”

I opened my suitcase, grabbed a pair of jeans, a silk blouse, and a light sweater, and ducked into the bathroom to change. It was only once I was alone in there that I realized I hadn’t taken a deep breath since we landed in Italy.

When I came back out, I grabbed the thriller I’d brought and curled up on the sofa at the foot of the bed to read. Cosimo sat at the breakfast table with his laptop open, typing away. My eyes drifted to him more than once. A few times, I caught him looking at me too. The tension in the room was palpable, and after a while, I couldn’t sit still anymore. It was only six-thirty, and no one in Europe ate dinner this early, but I needed to get out of this room.

“I’m going to grab some dinner,” I said. “I’m getting hungry.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“That’s okay. You’re still working.”

“Fabiana, I’m not letting you go into town on your own. We’re in a foreign country.”

I laughed. “I guarantee you this place is far safer than New York.”

“In New York, you have two bodyguards with you. Here, you’ve been downgraded to one. And anyway, we’re on our honeymoon, remember? What do you think the girl at reception is going to think if you wander off on your own?”

I folded my arms. “Since when do you care what anyone thinks?”

“It’s our cover,” he said. “I’m not blowing it on day one.”

Then he walked over and stopped in front of me. “You’re staying close to me while we’re here. You’d better get used to it.”

I sighed. “Fine. If you insist.”

Ten minutes later, Cosimo had changed, and we headed down the stairs. Just before we entered the lobby, Cosimo reached over and took my hand in his. I glanced down at our joined hands and wondered, for what had to be the tenth time in the last hour, how I was supposed to survive the next three days, let alone the next five months, pretending like I wasn’t thoroughly falling for him.

CHAPTER 36

COSIMO

Fabiana and I left the hotel and made our way down a worn limestone street leading toward the historic center of town. The weather was a hell of a lot nicer here than back in New York. Even now that the sun had set, the air was pleasantly crisp but nice enough to be out.

Fabiana’s hand was warm against mine as we walked. I wondered if she’d noticed how fucking well it fit there.

I had.

On the flight over, I’d stared out the window and tried to sort through the war being waged inside me. One part of me screamed to keep her. The other screamed that doing so would be a catastrophic mistake.

If the last few weeks of our marriage had confirmed anything, it was that one day she would lead me to my grave. I understood my father now in a way I never had before. When you wanted someone the way I wanted Fabiana, there was very little you wouldn’t do to keep them happy.

Bringing her here was risky. But after that moment in the shower—when she made me wonder for the first time whether she dreaded the end of our marriage as much as I did—I hadn’t had it in me to leave her behind.

It would be difficult enough to walk away from her believing she wanted something else. But what if she didn’t? What if this—us—was what she wanted too? Even turning that thought over in my mind felt dangerous. What if it wasn’t duty that made her stay? What if it was something else?

Something worse.

If either of us dared to name it, a Pandora’s box I couldn’t close would open. The part of me that wanted to possess her hated her for that “I don’t know” she’d whispered in the shower with water streaming down her flawless body. But the part of me still clinging to logic knew she’d spared us both by refusing to give me a straight answer.

It meant that I could still convince myself that leaving her when the time came would be for the best.

She shot me a curious glance as we passed by a souvenir shop spilling light onto the street.

“What?” I asked.

Some color appeared on her cheeks. “I’m not used to seeing you so dressed down. You seem so…normal.”

I’d ditched my usual uniform of gray or black suits for a pair of dark jeans, a gray button-up shirt, and a leather jacket. My leather desert boots echoed against the uneven cobblestone.

“Gotta blend in, Nettle. We’re here on vacation, remember?”

She laughed, and God, I loved hearing that sound. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

I had to think about it for a second. “A few months before Dad gave me my last promotion. So over a year ago. Les and I took a short trip to Miami. Did a bit of work, but mostly we just sat on the beach, swam, and gambled.”

“Gambled? That sounds suspiciously like frivolous spending.”

I grinned. “Not if you win.”

Her gaze dropped to my lips, and something wistful flickered in her gaze before she looked away.

The street gave way to a pedestrian walkway, which meant we had to be getting closer to the center of town. A little farther ahead, artists had set up in a loose row, easels and canvases scattered around them.

“Oh. My. God.” Fabiana came to a stop so abruptly I nearly walked into her. “I think it’s a local art festival.” She tugged me toward the nearest artist. “How much longer are you here?” she asked him.

“One more hour,” the man said in a thick accent.

Fabiana turned to me, eyes wide and practically glowing.

Christ. She was fucking adorable.

“Can I look around, or are you starving?” she asked.

I brushed my thumb over her chin, unable to resist. “I can wait.” Did she really think I could tell her no?

“You can sit if you want.” She pointed to a nearby bench, though she was already half turned back toward the paintings.

I shook my head. “I’m not letting you wander through the crowd on your own.”

Her smile widened. “Then let’s go look.”

We drifted from artist to artist while Fabiana peppered them with questions, admired their work, and occasionally leaned close to murmur in my ear about what she thought their influences were. Even to my untrained eye, some of them were clearly talented. Mostly, I found myself watching her. The way she lit up. The way her whole face changed when something delighted her. It was impossible not to.

A strong wind blew down the street, ruffling my hair. I slipped off my jacket and put it over Fabiana’s shoulders. “It’s getting colder.”

She glanced my way. “You’re going to freeze in just a shirt.”

“You’ve forgotten how I used to live before you moved in.”

“Ah, true. I guess you’ve been training for this.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t you think it’s been nice having the house warmer the last few weeks?”

A group of male tourists were moving toward us, too consumed in their conversation to be paying much attention to their surroundings. I stepped closer to Fabiana to make sure they didn’t bump into her. “It’s disgustingly comfortable.”

She laughed. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s no echo if you’re having a conversation in the living room now.”

I had noticed. She’d added a large rug in there, and in most of the hallways, and even in the bathroom by the sinks. I’d noticed the pillows and blankets draped over armchairs and sofas, the poufs and plants, and the ceramic vases that now occupied shelves and once-empty corners all over the house.

“I have noticed.” Something about seeing her make my house her own made my chest tighten.

As we walked by one of the stalls, I paused.

“What is it?” she asked.

It was a painting of a cliffside done in meticulous detail. The artist, an older man, noticed me looking. “This is one of my favorites.”

“It looks familiar,” I said, trying to place it.

The artist smiled. “Are you Americans?”

“We are. We’re here on our honeymoon,” Fabiana said.

“Congratulations. This is a painting of the Palisades Park just outside New York. I saw it when I went to visit my family in Jersey,” the artist said. “It made an impression.”

Of course. God, it had been over a decade since I’d gone to that place.

“You’ve been there?” Fabiana asked.

“My father and I used to go hiking there when I was younger.”

“Really?” She looked back at the painting. “Did you go there often?”

“For a while. We started going every few weeks when I was around eight and kept going until I turned twelve.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I don’t know. We just did.” I had my suspicions though. I was around twelve when Dad discovered the burns on my arms. When he chose to do nothing about it.

“Could we buy this one, please?” Fabiana asked the artist.

I pushed the unpleasant memories away and leaned down, bringing my lips close to her ear. “Are you getting me a gift?”

She turned her head, putting her mouth an inch from mine. “I’m not missing an opportunity to buy a piece of art you seem to actually like. Maybe there’s still some hope for you.”

I grinned, my gaze dropping to her mouth. The urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed me, but I held myself back. Once I started, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop.

“Enjoy your honeymoon,” the artist said, snapping me from my trance and handing me the painting.

“Oh look. This must be the central plaza,” Fabiana said, pulling me down the street. “Let’s go look at the Christmas lights there and then grab something to eat.”

She took my hand again and tugged me along. The central plaza was small with yellow Christmas lights glowing overhead. Kids ran between families, a crowd spilled out of a café, and a busker played guitar somewhere nearby. The town might be small, but it was alive and welcoming.

“I love it here,” Fabiana said as she turned in a circle, taking it all in.

Longing panged through me. It was easy to imagine this being our real honeymoon. Easy to imagine spending weeks here with her, losing ourselves in each other, losing ourselves in this town that was far removed from our lives in New York.

It was a fantasy. The day we returned, reality would set in.

But maybe I could let myself live in that fantasy until then.

CHAPTER 37

FABIANA

The dining room of La Capasa, the small osteria Cosimo and I had picked for our dinner spot, felt like it had existed in Grottaglie for centuries. A vaulted limestone ceiling arched overhead, elaborate iron sconces lined the walls, and a fire danced behind the blackened grate of the hearth, sending a steady crackle through the room.

Garlic, butter, and the smell of grilled meat wafted through the air. It was enough to get my mouth watering. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now.

I settled into the chair next to Cosimo and picked up the menu. We were seated beside each other at a round table nearest the hearth. “I have a feeling we’re about to have a very good meal.”

His menu lay unopened in front of him. He stared at me intently, and for a moment, I forgot about my hunger—at least the type that food could sate. The other hunger was impossible to forget as long as he was around me, holding my hand and playing the role of a man on a honeymoon a little too well.

“Your brother told me once that you like to cook. You’ve never cooked for me.”

His comment took me by surprise. “You have a private chef. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“I want you to.” He tapped his index finger lightly against the menu. “If you enjoy it.”

I rolled my lips together, strangely flattered by the request. I did enjoy it. In Geneva, I cooked a lot, but I stopped once I came back to New York. I shot him a small smile. “When we get back, I will.”

I was going to leave it at that when I remembered Mia’s advice. Lean into it.

“My mom taught me how to cook.” I kept my gaze on the menu, scanning the list of antipasti without actually reading the words. “Dad left her alone when she was in the kitchen. We spent a lot of time in there together before she sent Elena and me off to boarding school.”

Cosimo’s attention didn’t waver from me. “She wasn’t at the wedding.”

“She’s a bit reclusive these days. Doesn’t like to be in big crowds, to be seen by people…” I swallowed. “She never looked good enough for my father. Couldn’t do anything right. None of us ever could.”

I looked over the top of the menu to Cosimo’s hands. They were clasped together on the table in front of him, the knuckles white. Something scared and vulnerable wavered inside my chest as I slowly lifted my gaze to him. To his face. To his eyes.

They were hard and angry. But after a second of me staring right into those blue depths, they softened. Flickered with understanding.

I was introspective enough to know where all my insecurities stemmed from. Now he knew it too.

Getting over them? Well, I was a work in progress. But it didn’t escape me that he’d been aiding the progress in subtle ways.

The waiter came by to explain the menu, which was a relief since I hadn’t absorbed a single word I’d read. Either he was the world’s best salesperson, or Cosimo was even hungrier than I was, because we somehow ended up ordering every single dish I expressed even a remote interest in. It was easily enough for four people.

When the waiter left, Cosimo leaned back in his chair and glanced around the restaurant. A short chuckle escaped him.

“What is it?” I asked.

He nodded toward the poster hanging over the bar. “La Dolce Vita. Reminds me of Romolo’s Fellini phase.”

“Romolo had a Fellini phase?”

“He’s a movie buff. When we were teenagers, he forced Alessio and me to sit through multiple Fellini marathons with him.”

“Did you like them?”

“I thought they were boring as hell.” His mouth curved faintly. “I never had any desire to revisit them, but maybe I’d appreciate them more now that I’m older.”

I tried to picture a younger version of him sitting through old Italian films beside his brothers. It was strange to imagine Cosimo as a boy. “Are you and your brothers close?”

“We are now after Dad’s death.” His gaze lowered briefly to the table. “Probably closer than we’ve ever been. But it wasn’t always that way.”

“How come?”

He straightened out his cutlery, seemingly unsure of how much of an answer he wanted to give me. The firelight flickered over his face. Despite his hesitation, he looked more relaxed than I could ever remember him being.

“My mother deliberately tried to keep us divided,” he said, reaching for his wine.

I frowned. By now, I’d thought I understood the kind of person Vita was. Manipulative. Power hungry. Controlling. But Cosimo’s tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.

There was more to it, wasn’t there?

“Why would she do that?”

Cosimo swirled his wine. “My mother puts on a certain face for the world. My brothers and I are the only ones who’ve ever seen the real her.” His voice stayed even, but there was ice beneath it now. “I think she always knew if the three of us got too close, we might stand up to her. She didn’t want that.”

“How did she try to keep you divided?”

“When we were younger, it was logistics. She encouraged Alessio and me to move out, leaving Romolo at the penthouse with her. She invited us over for dinner, but always individually. Then, as we got older and started working for Dad, she made him place us in different parts of the business, working on different things.” His jaw tightened. “Sometimes she’d tell Romolo I’d complained about him, or tell me that Romolo had complained about me. Little things. Things with enough truth in them to make them believable, but enough distortion to create distrust.”

The unease in me swelled.

“We were busy. Never fully caught on to what she was doing,” he continued. “Didn’t have enough honest conversations.”

Heat brushed over my cheeks. I knew a thing or two about that.

“But you’re united against her now.”

“We are.” There was no triumph in his voice. Only caution. “I hope it’ll be enough to keep her from getting what she wants.”

The waiter returned with some of the antipasti we’d ordered, and for a moment, the conversation paused while he explained each dish. I only half listened. I was too distracted by the unexpected commonality between Cosimo and me.

When the waiter moved away, I reached for an olive and popped it into my mouth. “My dad tried to create distance between us too. He always favored Rafe over me and Elena, and he made sure we knew it. When you’re a kid, all you want is for your parents to love you, so for a long time, we resented Rafe. We thought he was stealing Dad’s attention from us.” I rubbed my thumb over a stray crumb on the tablecloth. “It took us years to understand what holding that attention on himself cost Rafe. My brother was always trying to protect us, even when we didn’t see it. I still regret how coldly my sister and I acted toward him before we learned the full story.”

Cosimo studied me. “It’s good that you had Elena.”

“Yes. But we were never as close as people expect twins to be. She’s bold and brave, and let’s just say that if her boss tried to pull the kind of trick mine did, she’d have to be dragged out of the UN kicking and screaming.” A small smile tugged at my mouth. “I love her, but she’s very different from me.”

“You don’t sound that different.”

I sent him a questioning glance.

“You’re brave too, Nettle. Look at what you’re doing. You came with me on this trip despite knowing things might get dangerous.” His gaze held mine. “That’s bravery.”

“I don’t know if I agree.” I hesitated before saying the next part. It was revealing, but it was true, and hadn’t I just decided that I should lean in? Screw it. “I’m not nervous about being here. I feel safe with you. Always have.”

Something heated and all too pleased skated through Cosimo’s eyes. He reached for his wine and took a sip, allowing a charged silence to settle between us.

The hearth had warmed the room. He unbuttoned his sleeves and began to roll them up. I watched him while the conversation we were still stubbornly not having began to rehearse itself in my head.

I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want a second husband. I want you. Can we give this a real try?

God, it seemed so simple. But Cosimo was wrong. I wasn’t brave. At least, not brave enough. Someone brave would shake off the fear that gripped me at the prospect of saying all that out loud. I couldn’t.

And then, in a flash, I wasn’t thinking about any of that at all.

I was looking at Cosimo’s forearms. I’d noticed the tattoos before, dark ink shifting over muscle, but I saw something else there now that made my blood run cold.

Small circular marks on his skin. They were round and faintly brown, scattered along the inside and outside of his forearm.

“What are those scars on your arm?”

Cosimo’s expression darkened. He looked away, considering his answer for a long moment.

“Cigarette burns,” he finally said.

I blinked. “Why do you have cigarette burns on your arm?”

“When I was younger, it was my mother’s favorite way of disciplining me.” He said it in a calm monotone, as though he were telling me the name of a dish on the menu.

Horror flooded through me. “What?”

“It stopped when I was twelve. I got too big for her to do things like that. I could overpower her easily by that point.” His fingers flexed once against the table. “When I was younger, she’d go to town.”

I couldn’t look away from the scars. Could barely wrap my head around what he was saying.

Vita wasn’t just ruthless. She was a monster. And she had everyone fooled.

No, not everyone. Mia knew what she was. She’d tried to warn me but hadn’t gotten into the details. I understood why now. Whatever Rom had told her about his mother must’ve been too private for her to share with me.

I took a shallow breath and dragged my gaze up to Cosimo’s face. “At the engagement party, she said something about teaching you discipline. Is…this what she meant?”

He gave a slow nod. “She was generous with her punishment. It came whenever I lost my temper. Cried. Defended one of my brothers. Stood up to her in any way. I was supposed to shut up and obey her. Always.” He took another sip of his wine. “The worst of it was when I did anything to threaten her image. She’s obsessed with appearances. With what others think of her. That’s the source of her power.”

I stared at him, my stomach turning over. “My God, Cosimo. I’m so sorry.”

His face didn’t change.

“I don’t understand how your dad never realized it.” The words came out before I could soften them. “Or was he like her?”

“No,” Cosimo said. “He wasn’t like her.”

Relief flickered through me, but it didn’t last.

“But he always chose her,” he added. “He never protected us, even when the evidence of her actions stared him in the face.”

My chest tightened.

“When he saw the burns on my arms, he stopped taking me on the hikes.” His voice was still controlled, but there was something underneath it now. Something old and bitter. “Somehow, he thought the proper response to finding out his wife was putting cigarettes out on my arm was to distance himself from me.”

“I don’t understand how he could justify that to himself. My mom wasn’t able to protect Rafe, but she wasn’t the don. Your dad was. He had absolute power.”

Cosimo frowned, his gaze sliding toward the fire. “My mother had her own power over him.”

The rest of our food arrived before I could respond.

“Let’s not ruin our appetite with this discussion,” Cosimo said once the waiter stepped away.

I didn’t argue. For a man like Cosimo—private and secretive—telling me this much must’ve been difficult.

And yet he’d done it. He’d trusted me with information he’d vehemently refused to give me only weeks ago when I’d asked about him and his mother at Gino’s wake.

Warmth and hope converged inside my chest. The shape of what was happening between us was changing. From lust and want, to intimacy and need. He might’ve hidden himself behind tall walls, but he was human like the rest of us. Humans craved to be seen.

I reached for his hand across the table and covered it with mine. “We’re going to get what we need tomorrow.”

His expression softened. Just barely. “Now that you’re here, these pottery workshops have no idea what they’re about to be up against.”

I grinned. “That’s right.”

He turned his palm face up, and our fingers intertwined. Heat bloomed between our hands, slipping under my skin, into my veins, flaring in his eyes.

My heart beat loudly inside my ears. I thought back to the room waiting for us at the hotel, to the tiny bed, to the plans for tomorrow we still needed to discuss.

The fear in me was fading, I realized.

And it was being replaced with anticipation and the certainty of moving toward something inevitable.

CHAPTER 38

COSIMO

The rest of dinner moved into lighter territory.

The wine flowed freely, the food was excellent, and by the time Fabiana had eaten the last bite of dessert, we’d been in the osteria for nearly three hours.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat down for a dinner like that with a woman. Maybe never. Even before I stopped entertaining women altogether, I’d never met someone I could talk to for hours without running out of things to say.

Once I decided to lower my guard with Fabiana, it was shockingly easy.

I listened while she told me about her years at boarding school. The friendships she’d made there. The projects in Geneva that had challenged her. The trips around Europe that had made an impression.

And she listened too. She asked questions that dug up old memories I hadn’t revisited in eons—winter holidays in Italy with my brothers, summer afternoons spent playing soccer when school was out, my first job at one of Dad’s old construction companies…

They were the things I didn’t tell anyone. Pieces of myself that I kept hidden away because that had always felt safest.

She’d told me she always felt safe with me. Just remembering that sent warmth running through my chest.

Tonight, I felt safe with her too. The alarms that always rang inside my head whenever I considered letting her in hadn’t disappeared, but they were quiet for now.

I wished I knew how long that would last.

The waiter brought the check.

“My God.” Fabiana glanced at the time. “It’s past eleven. We need to get back. We still have to go over our plan for tomorrow.”

I nodded as I signed the bill, but my mind wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. It was thinking of the romantic hotel room, the small bed that would put her within easy reach, and the permission that I’d given myself to treat tonight like this was real.

Despite talking all evening, we didn’t stop on the walk back to the hotel.

“I think my favorite trip was to Seville,” she said, her hand linked with mine. We strolled back to the hotel down a nearly empty street, and I kept glancing over at the relaxed smile on her face. “The food was just incredible. I love Spain.”

“I do too,” I said. “The architecture in Barcelona is one of a kind.”

“You know, I’ve never been to Barcelona. Not sure how I missed it. I’d love to go one day.”

I almost said I’d take her there for her birthday, then I remembered her birthday was in July.

Our marriage would be over by then.

Funny how the timeline that had given me comfort at one point now filled me with nauseating unease.

There would be fallout when I got the marriage annulled. And really, what did she want that I couldn’t offer her? If she wanted to make pottery, that was fine by me. If she wanted to take some classes in college, I’d make it work. She’d have some of that freedom she’d been dreaming about, and I’d get a woman by my side that I knew I could trust.

But there was one thing I couldn’t give her.

Love.

Love made even the strongest men weak. Men like my father.

She hadn’t said she wanted it, but I knew. She was the kind of person who wanted things like that, and I was the kind of guy who thought of it as the ultimate mistake.

And what the fuck is it that you feel for her now?

I cracked my neck. Obsession. Attraction. Want.

Not love. That couldn’t be it.

Our conversation stalled when we reached the hotel. I unlocked the front door with the key the receptionist told us to use after hours, and the click of the lock cut through the silence that had stretched taut between us. Fabiana’s hand was slightly clammy in mine as I led her up the stairs to our room. Was she nervous?

Our room seemed even smaller now.

I shut the door and placed the painting we’d bought at the festival on the coffee table.

Fabiana took my coat off her shoulders, hung her purse over the back of a chair, and let out a low breath before turning to me. “Should we go over our route tomorrow?”

My gaze dripped down her body, over the curves wrapped in a cream-colored sweater and a simple pair of jeans. She wasn’t trying to be sexy, but she was still the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

The wine, the conversation, and the fantasy of this being real had worn down my restraint.

I wanted her.

And I would have her.

“I can explain my rationale for which ceramic workshops I think will be the best ones for us to visit,” she said.

I walked toward her.

“They’re all located close to each other so⁠—”

I backed her against the wall.

She stopped talking.

“I’m listening,” I said as I slid my hand under the hem of her sweater. My palm moved over her waist and settled on her back. Her skin was smooth and supple, and I was addicted to the feel of it.

She tipped her head back against the wall, her lips slightly parted as she looked at me. “I—um, the first one is⁠—”

I dipped my head and pressed my mouth to the side of her throat. Her scent was strongest here—lavender and lemons. My tongue darted out, licking at her heated flesh and making her squirm.

“Cosimo, I can’t talk to you like this.” Her voice had gone breathy.

I ran my thumb over a shallow dimple on her lower back. “What’s the problem?”

She gasped softly as I bit down on the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “You’re distracting.”

“Now you know how I feel whenever you’re in my proximity,” I murmured against her skin. “Utterly distracted.”

Her hips canted up to meet mine. “Fine,” she said in a trembling voice. “The first one is called Bottega Chindemi. They’re the oldest workshop in town, so I’m guessing they’ll know what everyone else in town is up to and who the Quaranta collectors might be.”

I ground against her while I nipped and sucked on her throat.

“Then there’s the workshop closest to the location of Quaranta’s old one, the one that burned down.”

My palm slid higher up her back, and I unhooked her bra.

“They must’ve known Quaranta we⁠—”

I pulled her sweater off her, taking the bra with it, and tossed them onto the ground. She stood in front of me in just those jeans, and the sight of her like this made my cock swell.

I sank to my knees. “Keep talking.”

“I was saying that they must’ve known Quaranta well, and they should know what happened to his pieces in the aftermath of the fire.” Her fingers slid into my hair as I unbuttoned her jeans and dragged them down her thighs.

She wore a pair of skimpy black panties. I liked those. Maybe I should spare them from the fate the rest of her underwear met around me. I pulled them down gently with the jeans.

And then she was bare. I stood and walked back a few slow steps to admire her. Her eyes were dark with arousal, her nipples perky, and she had a light dusting of hair over her mound.

I dragged my thumb over my bottom lip, my cock straining against my jeans. “Get on the bed, spread your legs, and keep talking.”

She moved. Quickly. Eagerly.

I gave the glistening pussy she showed me a languid look before I slung one of her legs over my shoulder and dove in.

She got as far as telling me about the fourth workshop before her words turned into helpless moans I savored with my entire being. My fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs as I kept her tightly pressed against my face. I couldn’t get enough of her taste, of her smell, of the sounds she made… Christ. I lapped at her opening, circled her clit, and sucked on the swollen nub until she began to twitch beneath me, her thighs clamping around my head.

“Oh God,” she moaned, lifting her hips off the bed. “Oh my God.”

I pulled away and strummed her clit with my thumb. I wanted to watch her fall apart, and fuck, she fell apart so prettily.

Her back arched as her climax ran through her. She tossed her head from side to side, curls scattering over the bedsheets as she rode her high. I dipped two fingers into her opening, feeling her muscles clench and relax, and the thought of feeling her do that around my cock was nearly enough to undo me.

Her muscles had barely stopped spasming before she sat up and reached for me. She ripped at my clothes, pulled off my shirt, and pressed her lips to my chest. She kissed me like someone who deserved her tenderness, her sweetness, and I just couldn’t take it. She made my heart fucking ache.

“On your knees,” I said roughly.

Her eyelids fluttered, like she felt pleasure at the command alone. She was a vision of obedience as she slid off the bed, lowered herself to the floor between my feet, tilted her head back, and opened her mouth.

The image branded itself into my memory. I was so fucking turned on that my hand trembled slightly as I grabbed my cock and slid the tip over her bottom lip, back and forth. Her tongue darted out, wetting the underside and making a drop of precum leak out the slit.

Slowly, I fed it to her, watching every inch disappear inside her mouth. I groaned. “Christ, baby. You look gorgeous like this.”

Her doe eyes didn’t leave mine as she sucked me off. I watched them water as she took me deeper and deeper, and my balls tightened.

I reached over and cupped her cheek. “You gonna let me come down your throat?”

She smiled around me, and my orgasm rammed through me like a goddamn truck. I thrust into her mouth, spilling into her and gasping while my whole body shook.

We collapsed on top of the duvet and panted while staring at the ceiling. Seconds ticked by. Her curls tickled my shoulder, and her scent made me dizzy with the kind of want no amount of orgasms would sate.

I loved her body, but I wanted more than that. I wanted everything.

The thought was so unsettling that I sat up and decided it was better to stop thinking altogether.

I wasn’t done with her yet.

My fingertips explored every inch of her skin, while she watched me silently with hooded eyes. Within minutes, I was hard again, and she pushed me onto my back and slid onto my cock.

Guess she wasn’t done with me either.

“God, you feel good,” she moaned as she rode me. “So good.”

I watched her, mesmerized. And yet thoughts kept intruding. I’d told her I’d ruin other men for her, but in that moment, I knew I was the one being ruined. A sense of certainty coalesced inside my chest. There’d be no one else after her. No one.

She was it for me.

Not love, huh?

Something hot and desperate bloomed inside my chest. I grabbed her by the waist and flipped us over, driving into her tight, wet heat. My forehead touched hers as my thrusts turned punishing. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” she moaned against my lips.

I savored hearing that word spill past her lips. Our mouths collided in a messy, inelegant kiss that carried no pretenses.

I could’ve told her then that I wanted to call off the deal. I could’ve told her that she had enslaved me.

But I couldn’t tell her that I loved her. Wouldn’t.

And so we stayed tightly tangled in each other until we both found our release.

Our breathing and hearts slowed. We lay there, my arm slung across her waist, her back pressed against my chest, only the hum of the wall heater disturbing the silence around us.

“Cosimo?” There was an inflection in her tone that kept me silent.

A beat passed. Two. I heard her swallow. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want that other husband anymore.”

The whispered words lingered in the air. My ribs felt like they had cracked right open, exposing my heart.

And still, I stayed silent. Pretended I was asleep.

After a while, she let out a low sigh, shifted against me, and tucked the pillow under her head.

I bit on the inside of my mouth until I tasted blood.

Fabiana was brave. But me?

I was a coward.

CHAPTER 39

FABIANA

It was the birds that woke me.

A pair of cooing doves had settled on the windowsill. Outside the window, the tiled roofs of the nearby buildings were awash in golden light.

Cosimo’s heat enveloped me like the world’s coziest blanket. I’d fallen asleep with him wrapped around me, and we’d stayed in the same position the entire night.

Carefully, I turned in his arms, wanting to see his face. He was still asleep. His eyelashes fanned over his cheeks, his hair curlier than usual and tumbling over his forehead. I reached up and brushed it back, thinking about last night, thinking about what I’d finally admitted to him.

He might not have heard me, but the words had been said, and saying them out loud had made them real.

I didn’t want out of this marriage anymore.

And Cosimo… Well, reading him was difficult, but last night, he hadn’t behaved like we had an end date. He’d held me with gentle hands while uttering possessive words, the kind that made me believe this could work.

That we could work.

Slowly, his eyes opened. Warmth unfurled inside them. It was intoxicating to have him look at me like that.

“Morning.”

I smiled. “Good morning. Should we get breakfast before we head out?”

He stared at me for a long moment, as if weighing something. Then, he smirked, tightened his hold around my waist, and dragged me on top of him.

We skipped breakfast.

We also skipped talking about the important things that we’d eventually need to discuss.

But as we got dressed, I told myself there’d be time for that later.

Today, we had a Santoro to track down.

Cosimo and I headed out to the ceramics quarter just after the shops opened. The plan was to visit as many workshops on my list as we could before they closed for the midday break.

The first was in a whitewashed building at the entrance of the quarter. A middle-aged shop owner and her daughter greeted us in Italian before the daughter switched to English.

“Do you sell work by different artists,” I asked, surveying the compact store, “or only your own?”

“We have our in-house collection, but we carry some other artists’ work as well,” the daughter said.

“We’re looking for pieces by Emilio Quaranta.”

The woman’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, yes. We have many designs inspired by Quaranta. He is very famous in this town. I can show them to you, if you’d like.”

“Actually, we’re looking for his originals.”

Her smile turned apologetic. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any. They’re very rare. Many were destroyed, and much of what remains has been bought by a few serious collectors.”

“Are there any collectors in town we might be able to speak to? Maybe someone willing to part with a piece?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you with that.”

“I guess we can’t expect to strike gold on our first attempt,” I said to Cosimo as we left the shop.

He hummed in agreement.

It was too early to be discouraged. There were still tons of other workshops left to visit.

As expected, the second shop owner was also familiar with Quaranta.

“Yes, the fire was devastating,” he said. “My father was still running this shop when it happened. I remember he was worried the fire would spread to us, but the winds managed to keep it away.” He smoothed his fingers over his thick mustache. “Quaranta’s pieces are very distinct. Quite beautiful, but you’re going to have a hard time finding any for sale.”

“Yes, we know they’re a rare find, but we’re quite determined,” I said with a laugh. “One of the other shops told us there are some people who’ve collected many of his pieces over the years. Do you happen to know any of them?”

A strange look passed over his face. He seemed suddenly concerned with the placement of the plates on one of the shelves, and he reached over to adjust them. “I’m sorry, I really don’t. Please, have a look around. If you like anything, I’m happy to give you a discount.”

Cosimo and I wandered through the shop.

“He knows something,” Cosimo said quietly.

“Maybe.” I glanced back toward the owner and caught him looking at us. He looked away quickly. “Let’s go. We’ve still got a lot of places to try. We can always come back here if we need to.”

Three more workshops. Three more versions of the same conversation. By the time the shutters started coming down for the afternoon break, some of my earlier optimism had begun to fade.

“Do you want to eat something?” I asked Cosimo. “We can use the time to regroup.”

He nodded, his brows drawn.

We stopped at a café in the piazza and ordered sandwiches and two bottles of Coke. Cosimo’s fingers tapped against the table as he stared out toward the fountain, his frustration written plainly across his face.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Everyone knows who we’re talking about the moment I say the name. Everyone knows there are people collecting Quaranta’s pieces, and yet no one will tell us who these collectors are. How is that possible?”

Cosimo crossed his arms over his chest. “They’ve been instructed not to talk.”

My eyes widened. “By the Santoros?”

“If Rena Santoro is the collector everyone’s thinking of. The Santoros might’ve paid them all off to keep their mouths shut.” He swiped his palm over his lips.

“We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover,” I said. I didn’t want him to give up. “Let’s just see how things go this afternoon.”

We finished our lunch, walked around town for a bit, and then returned to the ceramics quarter when the stores reopened just past five.

The next workshop was tucked away on a narrow side street. It was dimly lit, and the glass display case facing the outside looked like it was overdue for a clean, but even that couldn’t detract from the beauty of the ceramics inside.

They were the work of a master.

“Just look at this technique.” I pointed out a vase to Cosimo. “Do you see how the paint drips down the surface? It’s incredibly precise.”

“Took me about three years to perfect it.”

I turned and came face-to-face with a man who looked to be in his late forties. He wore a gray apron and had clay packed beneath his fingernails.

“Your pieces are beautiful,” I told him. “Did you make all of them yourself?”

“Me and my two sons. It’s a small family operation, but we take pride in our work. Would you like to see our newest collection?”

“I’d love to.”

He led Cosimo and me deeper into the workshop and showed us a collection called Garden Party. Every piece had been painted in a different shade of green, and together, they created the impression of foliage. I was immediately drawn to a statue of a woman’s head.

“This is stunning.” I studied it more closely. “It reminds me of a piece I saw in an article about Emilio Quaranta.”

“Emilio was a legend. So many of us have been inspired by his work. You can see his influence in this collection. You have a very good eye.”

Cosimo stayed silent beside me as the artist and I talked. I’d realized by now that jumping straight into questions about Quaranta wasn’t likely to get us anywhere. If I wanted someone to open up, I needed to build a little rapport first, so I spent another ten minutes or so asking the artist—Nunzio—about his work and his sons before circling back to what I really wanted to know.

“I’ve only seen one of Quaranta’s pieces in person,” I said, doing my best to stay nonchalant. “It didn’t have this particular technique, but the way he glazed the pottery and then shaped it to develop the cracks is just extraordinary.”

The man’s grin widened. “I completely agree.” He glanced around the store with a spark of excitement in his eyes. “I have a piece with his famous crackle technique. It’s not for sale, but would you like to see it?”

It took everything in me to keep my voice even. “I would love to.”

“Follow me.”

As we trailed behind him, I shot a look at Cosimo. He gave me an encouraging nod. We were finally getting somewhere.

We descended a few steps and entered a space that smelled a little damp. With the flick of a light switch, the room came into focus.

It took me only a second to realize we’d stumbled into a treasure trove.

There were at least fifty items in here, all by Quaranta.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “You have a whole collection.”

Nunzio nodded, his hands linked in front of him. “We’ve been collecting his work ever since his workshop was destroyed in that fire. It’s a bit of a treasure hunt. A lot of his pieces are in private homes in the area, and others got mixed up with work that wasn’t his.”

He led me to a jar painted in yellow and red pigment that had intricate cracks along the side. “This is the one I wanted to show you.”

“Incredible,” I breathed, my awe completely genuine. “I know you said it isn’t for sale, but—” I glanced at Cosimo and then back at Nunzio. “We’re here on our honeymoon. Bringing something like this home would mean so much to us.”

The artisan winced. “I’m truly sorry. It’s already been reserved for someone else.”

I sighed. “Ah, that’s too bad.”

“I can keep an eye out if anything like it comes our way again,” he offered.

“But that’s pretty unlikely, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he admitted. “This is a very rare piece.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know this is unusual, but can you possibly tell me who reserved it? Maybe I could contact them directly and see if they’re willing to sell. I’d be happy to pay extra for the inconvenience.”

Tension crept into his face, just as it had with everyone else we’d spoken to that day. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Are you sure? I mean⁠—”

“Nunzio.” A rough voice cut through the air. “Che succede? Non dovresti portare nessuno qui.”

I turned. Another man stood on the threshold of the room. He was broader than Nunzio, older, and had the same set to his jaw. He didn’t look very happy to find us here.

Nunzio straightened beside me. “Salvatore.” There was a note of quiet appeal in his voice. “Li ho fatti entrare io. Sono qui in luna di miele.”

Salvatore’s eyes moved over Cosimo and me with open suspicion. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get Nunzio in trouble.” I gave him my brightest, most harmless smile. There was enough resemblance between the two men that I was fairly sure they were related. “I was just really interested in Quaranta’s work, and you have such a remarkable collection.”

Salvatore’s expression didn’t budge. “Nothing here is for sale.”

“Yes, Nunzio explained that. I was just asking him whether it might be possible to get the name of the person who reserved this piece—maybe their contact information—so we can try to work something out?”

I’d expected a firm refusal. What I hadn’t expected was for Salvatore to start toward me in a way that felt unmistakably threatening.

“You need to leave,” he said again.

“Look—” I began, but before I could finish, Cosimo stepped in front of me.

“You’re acting like we asked for a state secret.” His voice had dropped into the same chilling register he’d used with Peter at Gino’s funeral. “We’re looking to make a transaction. Possibly one your client would be very happy about.”

“Our client is determined to own this piece.”

“And I am determined to make my wife happy on our honeymoon.”

To my horror, he took a step toward Salvatore, bringing them aggressively close to each other.

Salvatore’s jaw tightened. “If you don’t leave now, I’m going to call the police.”

“You’re treating us like criminals,” Cosimo said. “Makes me wonder why.”

My nails bit into my palms.

What was he doing?

Starting a fight wasn’t going to help us. If anything, it was going to slam this door shut in our faces for good.

“What part of leave don’t you understand?” Salvatore’s voice was flat, final, and—to my growing alarm—entirely unafraid.

Cosimo lifted a hand and gave his shoulder a condescending pat. “If I were you, I’d watch your tone. You never know who you might be speaking to.”

That, at least, made unease flicker in Salvatore’s expression. Still, he didn’t back down. He only pulled out his phone.

I stepped around Cosimo. “We’ll leave. I’m really sorry.” My hand closed around Cosimo’s, squeezing hard enough to make the message clear. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

I looked up at him and forced a bright smile that felt brittle on my face. “Honey, it’s fine. It’s really not that big a deal. Let’s just go look at some of the other workshops. I’m sure we’ll find something I love just as much.”

For a second, I wasn’t sure he’d listen. His gaze stayed locked on Salvatore, and I could practically feel the tension vibrating through him.

Finally, his eyes shifted to me.

“Let’s go,” I said again.

He took my hand and pulled me out of the workshop. The second we stepped onto the street, the door slammed shut behind us.

A moment later, the sign in the window flipped to Closed.

I let out a slow breath.

There went our best lead.

CHAPTER 40

COSIMO

Fabiana rounded on me the moment we returned to the hotel room. “Did you have to be so aggressive? If you’d just let me talk, I could’ve gotten something out of them.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” I snapped, ripping my jacket off and tossing it over a chair. Anger and frustration churned inside my lungs. We’d gone about this completely wrong. “They weren’t going to give us anything, just like the rest of the people we spoke to.”

Fabiana’s eyes blazed with annoyance that matched my own. “I had it under control. I just needed a little more time to put Salvatore at ease. He would have given us what we needed.”

For once, she sounded utterly confident. And yet she was completely wrong. I knew exactly the kind of guy he was—the type who only understood strength.

“At ease? Fabiana, he threatened us. You think you could’ve gotten through to him with some cheery compliments?” I raked my fingers through my hair. “If that prick had made it any closer to you, his brother would’ve had to scrape him off the floor.”

She huffed and brushed past me, her agitation palpable. “He was just posturing. He wouldn’t have done anything to me. And what was he going to say to the police even if he did call them? He was bluffing. We hadn’t done anything wrong.” Her curls bounced as she gave her head a hard shake. “Nunzio was the only one today who actually showed us Quaranta’s pieces. If you’d just let me handle it, I would’ve gotten us what we needed. Instead, you lost your cool and met Salvatore’s aggression with your own. That rarely leads anywhere productive.”

“God, Fabiana.” By the time we’d left the second workshop, I’d suspected what kind of situation we’d walked into, but Salvatore’s behavior had only confirmed it. “Diplomacy isn’t going to work here. You’re missing the obvious.”

Her emerald gaze narrowed. “What?”

“The Santoros control this town. This must be their territory, or at the very least, the territory of one of their close partners. Someone who they trust to do their bidding. They’ve threatened everyone into silence.”

She looked skeptical. “You can’t know that.”

“I can recognize fear when I see it. These people haven’t been bought off. They’re scared.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’d been digging on the wrong continent this whole time. I’d been trying to track them down in the States, but the Santoros’ stronghold must be somewhere around here. They’re a crime family based in Italy.”

Which meant I needed to get Nettle away from here as soon as possible.

Anger and contrition vibrated inside my chest. I’d spent the last twenty-four hours indulging myself and getting swept away in a fantasy, completely missing that we’d stumbled into a hornet’s nest. I should’ve done some investigation on my own when we first landed before bringing Fabiana with me today, and yet I’d been too busy getting lost between her legs.

It had been a mistake to let go for even a minute. A mistake that could have terrible consequences.

But no more.

I wrapped my palms around her shoulders. “You’re going home first thing tomorrow, and I’m bringing in reinforcements. Once I have my men here, I’m going back to that workshop and having a very different kind of conversation. The only way I’m going to get any information from anyone here is by making them more afraid of staying silent than of speaking up.”

Fabiana looked aghast. “You’re overreacting. This is a peaceful town, Cosimo.”

“I’m not overreacting. It’s what has to be done.”

She pressed her palms to my chest. “I’m telling you that I can get more from Nunzio. We just need to go back there when Salvatore isn’t around. We don’t have to force it.” She reached up and cupped my cheek. “Look, I know you’re frustrated. But let’s cool down, have dinner, and get some sleep. We can go back to Nunzio’s workshop tomorrow. This time, just let me handle it. Actually, let me go alone. I’ll play the role of the bride who really wants the souvenir, apologize for your behavior⁠—”

My stomach tightened. “Apologize for my behavior?”

“It’s a complicated situation⁠—”

“It’s not complicated. At all. I know exactly what needs to be done, and I don’t need your input.”

Hurt flashed across her face. She took a step back, her brows pinching together. “I don’t understand why you’re talking to me this way. We’re partners. We’re working toward the same goal.”

Partners.

The word might as well have been a vial of poison poured down my throat. It burned through me like acid, and every alarm that had been quiet for the last twenty-four hours went off at once.

“We’re not partners,” I snapped before I even had time to process what I was saying. The words came flowing out of me, driven by a protective instinct that just took over. “This is my investigation.”

Vita’s voice rang in my ears. “Your father and I are partners. He puts his full faith in me to discipline you as I see fit.” The scars on my arms burned. I hated that word. Hated the way it’d blanketed her in his approval and protection. The way it’d made her invincible.

Fabiana stood stock-still except for her hands twitching at her sides. “The only reason we’re even here is because of a lead I got you,” she said.

“That doesn’t give you the right to interfere with what I do with it.” Inside me, everything shook. “We have a deal, but that doesn’t make us partners.”

“I see.” Her voice had thinned. “I suppose I misunderstood. I thought maybe we were becoming something more than two strangers using each other.” A short, humorless breath escaped her. “I guess I was just being naive again.”

Something cracked open inside me and began to bleed.

I wasn’t going to repeat my father’s mistakes. I couldn’t. Not when so much was at stake.

Fabiana picked her purse up from the bed and slung it over her shoulder.

“I’m going to have dinner downstairs. Alone.”

She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

I stood there for a moment, then I crossed to the window and smashed the heel of my palm against the frame.

CHAPTER 41

FABIANA

We didn’t sleep in the same bed that night.

When I came back to the room after having my dinner—a perfectly prepared pasta carbonara that somehow tasted no better than cardboard to me—Cosimo was stretched out on the sofa, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest.

I had a feeling he wasn’t really asleep, but I was in no mood to force a conversation. Hurt and annoyance still gnawed at my chest. At dinner, the insecure part of me had insisted that I’d done something wrong and needed to apologize for it, but for once, I hadn’t listened to her.

No, Cosimo’s reaction had nothing to do with me. Not really. After what he’d told me yesterday, I knew why he’d reacted the way he did when I said we were partners.

During one of our first meetings, I told him I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t even try to get along with me when he’d been raised by two people with an apparently strong marriage. Now I knew better. Now I knew what environment he’d actually grown up in. What it had taught him to fear.

I couldn’t blame him for being wary when it came to relationships.

But I also couldn’t let his fear decide what happened between us. He’d told me I was brave. So I would be brave enough to say what he was too afraid to face.

I fell asleep telling myself that I’d confront him in the morning and tell him exactly how I felt about him. Yes, there was a chance he didn’t return my feelings, but I didn’t want to give up on us without ever speaking my full truth to him.

But when I woke up, he was gone.

A brief pang of anxiety hit me before I noticed the note lying on the coffee table. Written in his angular handwriting.

I’m working in the breakfast room. Pack and find me when you’re done getting ready.

I gnawed on my nail. Pack? So he still wanted to ship me back home. If I went down there now, I wouldn’t be able to change his mind on that point, no matter how our conversation went.

I stripped off my pajamas and stepped into the shower, pondering what to do.

Cosimo’s plan would escalate everything. If he was right, if the town really was controlled by someone dangerous enough to frighten all the workshop owners into silence, coming here with more men—armed men—could end very badly. People could get hurt. He could get hurt.

I’d been so close yesterday with Nunzio. If I could just try again today, I might still be able to get something out of him.

But how?

Cosimo wasn’t going to let me go back there with him. I already knew that.

I dried off and got dressed. Cosimo’s note stared up at me from where it sat on the coffee table.

It was still early. He wouldn’t come looking for me right away. The workshop was just a fifteen-minute walk into town.

Maybe I could go there, talk to Nunzio, get what I needed, and come back before Cosimo had even noticed I was gone.

Risky. But it was worth it if it got us what we needed and avoided bloodshed.

Decision made, I pulled on my jacket and crept downstairs, slipping past the dining room as a couple of other guests walked inside. I stepped out of the hotel and headed toward the ceramics quarter.

The workshop was just like I remembered it from yesterday. As I walked in, a soft bell rang above my head.

“Welcome,” Nunzio called out. His smile wavered when he saw it was me.

I lifted both hands, palms open. “I’m really sorry about yesterday. My husband has a bit of a temper. He only wanted to make me happy. We asked about Quaranta all day yesterday and didn’t find a single original. By the time we got here, my husband was tired, frustrated, and out of patience. That still doesn’t excuse the way he spoke to you.”

Nunzio’s expression softened almost at once. “I should be the one apologizing on behalf of my brother. He has a temper too.” He shook his head. “The client who reserved those pieces is very important and values his privacy. Salvatore only wanted to make sure we respected that.”

I adjusted my grip on my purse. “I understand. Truly. And I appreciate that you take your clients’ privacy so seriously.” I looked around the workshop. “I’d still love to buy some of your pieces, if that’s all right? There were a few I noticed yesterday that I didn’t get the chance to ask you about.”

That made him brighten. “Of course. Which ones?”

We spent the next ten minutes talking through the pieces that had caught my eye. That part, at least, was easy. Nunzio clearly loved what he did, and once he started speaking about his inspirations, it was hard for me to get a word in. I complimented his work where it was deserved—which was often—and let the conversation unfold naturally while I kept one eye on the clock.

I didn’t have much time. But I also knew that if I went back to pressing him about Quaranta too soon, he’d retreat.

“I think I’ll take these three home,” I told him, pointing out two decorative plates and a jar.

“Of course.” He carried the pieces to the front counter and began wrapping them in craft paper. “What kind of ceramics do you make?”

Earlier, I’d mentioned to him I’d taken classes. “I like to experiment with different techniques,” I told him. “I try not to be too rigid or perfectionistic with it. I just get myself at the wheel and follow my creativity. Working with clay makes me feel grounded.”

Nunzio hummed in agreement, still wrapping. “I understand that completely. Sometimes I tell my brother he needs to forget the business side of things for a while and just enjoy the process again. He used to spend more time making pieces with me, but now he focuses mostly on the business.”

I smiled. “Then I hope you can convince him to come back to it. I think making art and letting our own creativity breathe is one of the most meaningful things we can do.”

Nunzio met my gaze, a fond smile playing on his lips. I returned it. We’d clicked, the way people sometimes do when they carry a common passion in their souls.

After a moment, he looked toward the room with the Quaranta collection and let out a deep breath. “All right,” he said.

My pulse picked up speed.

“I can give you a name. No contact information, and please, if you do get in touch with this person, don’t mention me.” He leaned in. “This individual has the most magnificent Quaranta collection. Likely the biggest in the world.”

Inside me, something deflated.

I didn’t need a name. We already had the name. I needed to know how to reach Rena Santoro.

We began to speak at the same time.

“The name of the collector is Dominic Bellandi.”

“Are you sure you can’t— Wait. What?” Bellandi? Who the heck was Dominic Bellandi?

The bell rang and a draft swooped in. Heavy footsteps sounded behind me.

Cosimo. I turned, ready to face his wrath at me sneaking away.

Only I didn’t find my husband.

It was Salvatore.

My stomach sank. Shit. Was he going to throw me out again?

Nunzio’s spine went ramrod straight. “She’s just here to buy a couple of our pieces.”

But Salvatore didn’t seem angry to see me here. Instead, dark amusement danced in his expression.

“You came back at the perfect time,” he drawled.

Apprehension slid cold and quick through my veins, but I forced a smile anyway. “Perfect time for what?”

Salvatore crossed his arms and looked down at me with a smugness that made every nerve in my body tighten. “The collector who reserved the piece you wanted is here.”

I went still. “Here?”

“Just outside,” he said. “Parking his motorbike.”

Motorbike. Could it be?

The door swung open once again, and a man with a scar on his face walked in.

CHAPTER 42

COSIMO

The breakfast service at the hotel was almost finished. I’d been sitting at the same corner table for the better part of two hours. My coffee had gone cold beside me, and my laptop was open to a contract I’d read three times without absorbing a single fucking word of it. The lawyer had said he needed a response this morning. I couldn’t make myself care.

I checked the time again. It was twenty-five minutes past ten.

I shut the laptop, raked my fingers through my hair, and blew out a breath.

Fabiana tossed and turned for about an hour last night before falling asleep. I stayed up for a while after that, staring at the ceiling, replaying our fight inside my head.

Eventually, I’d cooled down. Eventually, my thinking had become more clear and led me to one conclusion.

I hadn’t handled last night well. Not at all.

Yes, I needed to get Fabiana to safety. Yes, I should’ve been more cautious about this entire trip. But none of that justified the way I’d spoken to her. A single word should not have sent me off the rails.

I was a man who prided himself on self-control. On restraint. On seeing things through the lens of logic instead of emotion.

Apparently, I’d been lying to myself, because if I were really that man, I would’ve recognized immediately that Fabiana was nothing like Vita. Of course she wasn’t. Letting any comparison between them take root, even in my own head, was insane.

Fabiana had gone far beyond the terms of our deal to help me. She was behaving like a partner, and instead of showing her my appreciation, I’d taken that stupid deal and thrown it in her face.

I’d made her feel like she wasn’t good enough, when nothing could be further from the truth.

I needed to fix this. And I would. But I also knew that no apology was going to make her happy about what came next.

If I was right about the Santoros and this town—and every instinct I had told me I was—then things were about to get dangerous. I wasn’t letting Fabiana be here for that.

The plane was already waiting to take her home. I just hoped that once I apologized, she wouldn’t fight me too hard. Hoped she wouldn’t look at me with that betrayed expression that had gutted me the night before.

She needed to go home, but I didn’t want to rush her out this morning. Which was why I was sitting here waiting for her to come down when she was ready.

I glanced at my watch again. Ten thirty.

We had to get going. I had to get her on that plane. Once she arrived back in New York, the jet would refuel and fly straight back here with Rom and four of our guys. There was no time to waste.

I closed my laptop, slid it under my arm, and went upstairs.

The bedroom was empty. Fabiana must be in the bathroom.

I went out onto the balcony and waited a couple of minutes before coming back inside and knocking on the bathroom door.

“Fabiana. We have to go.”

Silence.

“The silent treatment? Come on, Nettle.”

Nothing.

“Look, I could have handled last night better. A lot better.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Absolutely no response.

“Baby, come out and let me apologize to you. What are you doing in there?”

It was too silent. A suspicion occurred to me, and I grabbed the iron door handle and pulled. The door swung open easily.

The bathroom was as empty as the bedroom.

Fuck.

Another glance around the room, and my fear was confirmed. I’d been so agitated when I came in that I hadn’t noticed the missing purse and jacket.

She was gone.

I shoved my gun behind my belt and took the stairs back down to reception at a run. The receptionist looked up with a pleasant smile that turned cautious when she saw my expression.

“My wife. Have you seen her?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. She left about an hour ago.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No, she didn’t. I’m sorry.”

I ran out the door. I had a feeling I knew exactly where she’d gone. Goddamn it, Nettle.

I got into the rental car and drove like a madman toward the ceramics quarter. On my way, I called Fabiana three times, but she didn’t pick up. The last workshop we visited yesterday was on a street that wasn’t accessible by car, so I parked nearby and sprinted the rest of the way. Its blue-painted door came into view.

The sign said closed. The shutters were pulled down. The door was locked.

I slammed my fist against it anyway, once, twice, hard enough that the sound echoed down the street. From somewhere above me, a window flew open, and an elderly woman leaned out, letting loose a stream of Italian while shaking her fist at me.

I stepped back and looked up at her. “Where did they go?”

Mercifully, she spoke slower, and I pieced together enough of it. They were closed for the day. Not coming back.

“A woman,” I said and then reached for the little Italian I’d picked up during our family visits here. “Capelli ricci. Did you see her come here?”

The woman stared at me for a long moment, then she barked something out that I was fairly sure meant go screw yourself.

The window slammed shut.

I stood in the street and felt my surroundings press in around me. Nettle had to have come here. I was certain of it. But where the hell was she now?

I dialed Rosa as I jogged back to the car. She picked up after four rings, her voice thick with sleep.

“Cosimo? It’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

“I need you to contact your hacker. He needs to trace Fabiana’s phone.”

Something clattered loudly on her end. “What happened?”

“We’re in fucking Italy, and she’s gone missing. I need to find her.”

“Oh shit.” Rosa’s voice sharpened, the sleep gone. “Okay, I can do that. Give me some time.”

“Quickly,” I said. “You get this done, and I’ll give you your raise.”

“You got it, boss.”

Over the next half hour, I worked my way through the shops we’d visited yesterday. She wasn’t in any of them, and no one had seen her.

Frustration and worry raged inside my chest as I paced down the streets. What the hell had she been thinking? Hadn’t I made it clear that while we were here, she needed to stay close to me?

Yeah, and then you decided to send her away.

She hated me making decisions for her.

Last night came back to me in a vivid flash. If I hadn’t pushed her away, she wouldn’t have gone out alone.

And why had I pushed her away? Because I’d refused to confront what was happening between us head-on. Because I’d been fucking terrified to say the thing I’d been dancing around, the thing I’d buried under other words—obsession, want, attraction—as if stacking enough of them together might keep me from seeing the truth.

It didn’t.

There was only one word for what she was to me. One word for why the thought of something happening to her made my chest feel like it was being ripped open from the inside.

Love.

I loved her.

I stopped pacing. God fucking damn it.

The phone rang. It was Rosa.

“We got her. I’m sending you the coordinates now.”

I waited for the address to come through and then pulled it up on a map.

My stomach dropped. Ice flooded my veins.

She wasn’t in town. The GPS said she was about thirty minutes away from here.

Until that moment, some optimistic part of me had still been hoping she’d just wandered off somewhere and was ignoring my calls because she was furious with me. But that wasn’t what this was. She didn’t have a car. She had no way to get all the way out there on her own.

Someone had taken her.

“Fuck.”

I sprinted back to the car, threw myself inside, and tore out of the parking space fast enough to make the tires squeal. The world narrowed to the road ahead and the thirty minutes standing between me and Fabiana.

If anyone had frightened her, touched her, or so much as harmed a hair on her head, I was going to carve them up and paint this entire fucking town red.

I was going to find her.

And when I did, I was done being a coward. I was going to tell her the truth.

She was mine.

And I wasn’t going to let her go.

CHAPTER 43

COSIMO

The countryside around Grottaglie blurred past the windows as I raced toward the address Rosa had sent me. I tried to stay calm and failed. All of my calls to Fabiana had gone unanswered, and yet her phone was still on.

It didn’t make sense.

If someone had kidnapped her, the first thing they would’ve done was turn off the device. Unless they wanted me to find them. In which case, I might be driving straight into a trap, but I’d just have to deal with it once I got there.

My mind spun with possibilities as to what could’ve happened. Someone had most likely tipped off the Santoros about us being here. If I had to bet on who, it would be that asshole Salvatore. I’d handle him after. But what did the Santoros want with Fabiana? Maybe they just wanted leverage, and they assumed kidnapping my goddamn wife would get it for them.

They were right. I’d do anything to get Nettle back.

The GPS told me to take a turn onto a long gravel driveway. The heavy iron gates sat open, and no one came out to stop me as I drove through them. Ahead was a grand Italian villa—sun-washed stucco walls, shuttered windows, a terracotta roof, and a shallow balcony above the front entrance. It was quiet and still. No guards were visible on the perimeter, but there was one car—an old Fiat—and a motorbike.

I pulled up and killed the engine. My eyes stayed on the bike.

I got out slowly, drew my gun, and moved toward the front door with my back angled to the wall. My eyes scanned my surroundings for threats, but there was no movement anywhere beyond the branches of the olive trees swaying in the wind.

I pressed my ear against the front door. There were sounds coming from inside the house. I could’ve sworn I heard dishes clattering, but no voices. To either side of the front door were narrow windows. I moved to look through one, trying to see inside⁠—

The door started to open.

I lifted my gun.

Fabiana stepped into view.

“Nettle.” The relief hit me like a hard punch in the gut. She seemed fine—was standing on her own two feet, unharmed, and no sign of distress. Her eyes widened as she registered the weapon pointed straight at her.

I lowered it immediately and drew her into me. “Are you all right?” I asked, pressing my lips to her hair and running my palm over her. I needed her to be okay.

“Cosimo. It’s fine. I’m safe.”

I leaned back to look at her face, searching for any hint she was saying that under duress. But she was completely calm.

Maybe too calm.

She gave me a reassuring smile. “Do you mind putting away your gun? The whole point of this was to avoid an escalation.”

“The whole point of what?” I asked, discomfort tightening inside my chest. It didn’t appear like Fabiana had been kidnapped. Which meant I had no fucking clue what this was.

“What the hell is going on?” My relief at finding her was being nudged aside by suspicion. “Why are you here? What is this place?”

“Dominic saw you pull up on the security camera. He sent me to open the door. He thought it might calm you down if you saw me right away. He didn’t want you to walk in guns blazing.” She looked pointedly at the weapon in my hand.

“Who the fuck is Dominic?”

She rolled her lips. “Could you please just put the gun away? I swear I’ll explain everything.”

“Not a chance.”

She let out a sigh. “Okay. Will you at least promise me you won’t shoot him until you’ve heard him out?” Her voice held the kind of tone you’d use when trying to reason with someone unreasonable.

How the fuck was I the unreasonable one in this situation? I wanted to kiss her and shake her at the same time. Didn’t she realize how close I’d been to losing my mind when I couldn’t find her?

The important thing was that she was fine. Whatever was happening inside this house, she’d clearly decided it wasn’t a threat. I’d find out quickly enough whether I agreed.

She reached down and squeezed my hand. “Do you trust me?” Her emerald eyes—soft, earnest, vulnerable—held mine.

Inside me, everything tensed…and then released.

I did. Of course I fucking did. This woman had proven herself to me again and again. I was done doubting her.

“I do,” I said.

A relieved smile tugged on her mouth. “Good.”

“I’ll hear him—whoever the fuck he is—out.”

She led me through the house and out onto a terrace overlooking a rose garden. Under a pergola draped in purple flowers, a dark-haired man sat at a table in the shade, newspaper in hand, a cappuccino at his elbow.

A scar ran over his cheek and disappeared into his beard.

Up close, I saw he was a few years older than I’d assumed—maybe around thirty. Still, I recognized him immediately.

It was the biker from the funeral.

“Dominic,” Fabiana said, “this is Cosimo Ferraro, my husband.”

The man’s gaze flicked my way and landed on the gun I still had in my hand. A corner of his mouth curved.

“I see what you mean about him being trigger-happy when your safety is involved,” he said to Fabiana, a subtle Italian accent wrapped around the words.

Fabiana sat down on one of the benches bracketing the table and began to scoot closer to the man.

No way. I caught her by the arm. If we had to bolt it out of here, it would take her ages to get out.

“Stay close to me.” I pulled her back toward the edge of the bench before taking a seat in the chair across from the man.

Dominic chuckled. “You do realize that if I’d wanted to do anything to your wife, I had a considerable amount of time before you arrived.” He looked straight at me then, and the hair on the back of my neck rose.

His eyes… Why were they so familiar?

“Please don’t provoke him,” Fabiana said to him, lifting a coffee cup with her lipstick marked on the rim.

“I know, I know.” He raised a hand. “I simply can’t help it. It’s a character flaw. Cosimo, would you like a coffee?”

A coffee? Had these two been sitting here having fucking coffee while they waited for me to arrive? I was confident Fabiana had just met the guy, so how had they managed to become best friends so quickly?

I eyed the tower of Italian pastries in the center of the table with disdain. “Someone better start talking. Now.”

“Perhaps,” Dominic said, leaning back in his chair, “you would consider setting the gun down. It’s rather difficult to tell a long story when I’m preoccupied with the possibility of being shot before I reach the end.” He opened his jacket. “As you can see, I’m unarmed.”

The arrogance of it set my teeth on edge. He wanted to make a show of how little I frightened him.

I set the gun on the table. He didn’t scare me either. I’d killed plenty of men with my bare hands when the circumstances demanded it.

“Excellent.” He gestured toward the pastries. “So no coffee? A pastry, maybe? They were baked fresh this morning.”

“I don’t want a fucking pastry.”

Amusement flashed in this fucker’s gaze. I was this close to smashing the pastry tray in his face, but now that the shock of all of this had worn off, I kept my anger contained. My usual mask had slipped into place with ease.

“Very well. Let’s begin.” He pressed a linen napkin briefly to his lips, cleared his throat, and straightened in his chair. “People on this side of the world know me as Dominic Bellandi. But in the States, my family goes by a different name.”

My pulse picked up speed.

“Santoro. My mother is Rena Santoro.”

My expression betrayed nothing, but my blood ran hot. I was sitting at a table with one of my father’s killers.

I might’ve snapped right then if it wasn’t for the small hand that wrapped around mine. The touch drew my gaze to Fabiana. She looked at me pleadingly. Hear him out.

“For the last thirty years,” Dominic continued, “Mamma has dreamt of revenge against your family. When I was younger, she convinced me that the only way our family could truly thrive was if yours was destroyed.” He paused, turning the cappuccino cup once in its saucer. “I’m older now. And I have come to believe that dragging both our families into a prolonged war serves none of us—especially when a diplomatic resolution might still be possible.”

A diplomatic resolution? After they murdered my father? I almost laughed. “Why don’t you start by explaining what this revenge is all about? I have no idea what your family wants from mine.”

“No,” he said. “I imagine you don’t. I assume that particular gap in your knowledge is your mother’s doing. She knows everything I’m about to tell you. She simply chose not to inform you.” He tilted his head. “I don’t suppose that surprises you.”

It didn’t. It made my stomach harden, but it didn’t surprise me. I guess Vita hadn’t been bluffing after all.

“I’ve heard rumors about Vita Ferraro’s ambitions for some time,” Dominic went on.

My gaze narrowed. “Have you?” How? Though if Mother had started buying off capos, leaks were inevitable.

“Given what your mother did to my family, I know she isn’t a woman who follows rules that limit her power.”

“And what, exactly, did she do to your family?”

“She came close to destroying us. Which is why my mother arranged for the bomb to be placed in your family’s penthouse.” His voice stayed even. “She learned you were closing a deal with Alvarez—a deal she badly wanted—and she acted without my knowledge or approval. In the months before, she made contact with your Aunt Lisa, who had fallen out of favor with Vita. Mamma offered Lisa a new passport, five million dollars, and a flight to Italy. Lisa agreed. She thought there was a microphone hidden in the bonsai tree. She did not know there was a bomb.”

My pulse beat loud inside my ears.

“Then you admit it,” I said. “Your family killed my father.”

A thin smile touched his lips. “Our father.”

Wind moved through the garden. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called once and then went quiet. I became aware of my own fingers pressing into the surface of the iron table.

“What did you just say?” My voice came out low.

“Gino Ferraro was my father too.” Dominic held my gaze with those all too familiar eyes.

But no. No. Lots of men had similar eyes.

I stood so fast the chair scraped behind me. I snatched up the gun and pointed it at him. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to buy that.”

He looked almost bored as he glanced at Fabiana. “This is what they mean when they talk about unruly younger brothers, isn’t it?”

“Younger?” My mind whirred. “You’re inventing a blood claim so you can position yourself to lead the Ferraros.”

“I am not looking to lead your family,” Dominic said. “I already have my own.”

My collar felt damp. “Fabiana, why did you insist I sit here and listen to this?”

“Cosimo,” she said gently. Her eyes shone. “Just look at him.”

I looked.

Fuck me. It wasn’t just the eyes. It was the line of the nose. The angle of the jaw. The shape of his mouth.

And it wasn’t just my father. It was Rom. Alessio. Me.

My breath got stuck in my throat as shock rang through me.

Fabiana stood and curved her small palm over my shoulder. Her touch calmed me. Slowly, I lowered the gun.

“How is this possible?” I forced out. “If you’re the eldest… Dad had a child before he met Vita?”

He nodded. “Gino and Rena were seeing each other in the weeks before he met Vita. A short-lived affair. The moment he met Vita, my mother ceased to exist for him. Unfortunately for him, by that point, Mamma was already pregnant with me. Terminating the pregnancy was out of the question. Her family would never have permitted it. She went to Gino. He told her he would provide for the child financially, but that he had no interest in a relationship with her or with me.” The smallest hint of bitterness slipped into his expression. “By that point, your mother had already sunk her claws into him.”

That part checked out. Dad had always told us he’d fallen for Vita at first sight.

“That arrangement might have held,” Dominic said, “if my mother’s family hadn’t come under threat soon after. The Santoros were never a major power in the city, but they were established enough for the Riccis to decide we were worth absorbing. Mamma went to Gino. She told him she wanted nothing from him—no money, no acknowledgment, no relationship. Only his backing in the conflict. One clear statement from the Ferraros, and the Riccis would have retreated. They were opportunists, not warriors. They were looking for easy territory, not conflict with the most powerful family in New York.”

Jesus. Dad should have helped them. It would have cost him almost nothing.

“Vita convinced him to refuse,” Dominic said. “She did not want him to help the woman carrying his child. She was probably betting the situation would get bad enough that my mother and I would be dealt with for her.”

I thought of Vita and the things I already knew she was capable of. There was no doubt in my mind that she would’ve resented any competition for Dad’s attention.

“Gino refused my mother the first time she came to see him. And the second. By the third visit, she was seven months pregnant. Her father had been butchered in the street, and her brother’s body was hung from a bridge.”

The terrace was very quiet.

“Your father was so completely under Vita’s influence that he turned away a woman pregnant with his child while her family was being destroyed. He could have stopped it all with a single phone call.” Dominic held my gaze. “I don’t tell you this to condemn him. I tell you so you understand why my mother ordered that bomb to be placed.”

Fucking hell. I exhaled slowly.

“A few weeks later, my mother fled to Italy with what remained of her family and had me here, near Grottaglie. They rebuilt. By the time I was ten, we were the most powerful family in this region.”

He picked up his cappuccino. “She eventually fell in love again. A man named Emilio Quaranta. A potter here in town. He died when a fire broke out in his workshop. A freak accident. In her grief, the need for revenge stopped being a distant thing. It became the organizing principle of her life. She was no longer content to build here. She wanted New York. She wanted what she believed had been taken from her. It took another nineteen years to accumulate the kind of wealth and influence that made that a realistic ambition.”

He set down the empty cup.

“When I was younger, I believed in her vision. I grew up on the story, and I grew up angry. But Gino Ferraro is dead. Now I find myself looking at a feud that has already cost both our families more than it has given either of us, and if your mother takes power, it will cost considerably more.” He spread his hands. “My hope is that you are more reasonable than she is. We can find a way to end this. Together.”

The flowers above us shifted in the breeze.

I looked at this man—my half brother—and tried to find solid ground after he’d just rearranged everything I thought I knew about my family.

“You want to make a deal,” I said.

There was a satisfied glint in his eyes. “I want to make a deal.”

CHAPTER 44

FABIANA

Dominic Santoro was an exceptionally charming man. He’d put me at ease within minutes of us meeting. When he’d first walked into the ceramics workshop, I’d been ready to bolt, but then he’d smiled at me—warmly, almost ruefully—and said he’d been dying to meet me. He’d taken my hand and pressed a kiss to it.

When he told me he was Cosimo’s half brother—and that he wanted my help convincing Cosimo to hear him out—I didn’t just take him at his word. That would’ve been reckless and naive, and I was trying to grow out of that.

No, something else had kept me from running for the hills. Something I’d noticed just a few days ago while flipping through Gino’s journal. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, but once I came face-to-face with Dominic…

I’d pulled out my phone right then and there and opened the album where I’d been saving photos of Gino’s journal. I wanted to digitize the whole thing eventually, just in case anything ever happened to the original. I’d found the drawing of the villa with the three boys in the yard and zoomed in on the fourth boy sitting up in the tree.

He wore a black sweater.

And on it, drawn in a dark gray so faint it was easy to miss, was the letter D.

Gino had sketched his fourth son into the picture.

Dominic had seemed genuinely stunned when I showed it to him. For a second, something unguarded had flashed across his face—longing maybe—before he’d covered it with that easy smile of his.

Will you help me, then? he’d asked.

I’d thought of him standing over Gino’s grave. His father. The man he’d never gotten the chance to know or even meet.

Dominic had seemed genuine to me. If Cosimo had been there, he would’ve disagreed. Maybe he would’ve seen a trap where I saw sincerity. But I’d trusted myself enough to make the decision.

And now here we were, flying back to New York together on Cosimo’s jet.

My husband sat beside me, his hand wrapped around mine. He hadn’t let go of me since we’d left Dominic’s villa, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he needed to reassure himself I was still here, or because he needed something to ground him while he processed everything Dominic had revealed.

I’d already known Vita Ferraro was a monster. But now I understood exactly why she could never be allowed to rule the Ferraros. She wasn’t a leader. She was selfish, cruel, and incapable of seeing beyond her own interests. If she were allowed to sit at the helm, she would drive the family to ruin.

Across from us, Dominic was already halfway through a plate of blinis and black caviar, champagne in hand, his legs crossed as he watched Italy disappear beneath the clouds.

Cosimo and Dominic had agreed the best way to work through the details of the deal was for Dominic to come back to New York with us, where he could speak to Alessio and Romolo in person. They had to be a part of this too, and Cosimo wanted to tell them about their half brother face-to-face.

I wouldn’t have called the vibe between the two men friendly, but it was relaxed enough that I wasn’t worried they’d kill each other before the plane touched down.

“A Christmas with my brothers,” Dominic mused aloud. The holiday was only a few days away. “I have to say, this is shaping up to be the most unexpected end to my year.”

Cosimo watched him with open skepticism. “What was your plan if you hadn’t run into Fabiana?”

“We didn’t run into each other by accident.” Dominic took a sip of champagne. “The moment you started asking around about a collector of Emilio’s pieces, word reached me. I flew down immediately. I knew my best chance at a conversation that didn’t end with one of us dead was while you were here with only your wife.” Another sip. “I was still deciding how to approach you when the receptionist at your hotel called to say she’d seen Fabiana leave alone. It’s a small town. It wasn’t difficult to find out where she’d gone.”

Cosimo pursed his lips and stared at him the way a man might stare at something he hadn’t yet decided whether to tolerate or kill.

Dominic, for his part, seemed completely unbothered.

In some ways, the two men felt like opposites. Cosimo treated the private jet like a boardroom. Dominic treated it like a luxury hotel. Where Cosimo was controlled, pragmatic, and disciplined to the point of severity, Dominic moved through the world like it had been arranged solely for his pleasure. There was no way this man lived in a home cooled to sixty-four degrees.

“The deal has to carry substantial benefits for the capos,” Cosimo said. “They’ll be sympathetic to your story, but your bomb killed their old don. It also almost killed my brothers.”

Dominic shrugged. “But it didn’t.” A small smile. “And now you have another brother.”

“This is not a joke,” Cosimo ground out.

“No,” Dominic said, the undercurrent of amusement disappearing from his voice. “It’s not. We are responsible for the lives of many people. So let’s not fuck this up.”

“What about Vita?” Cosimo asked. “I assume you want her to pay for what she’s done.”

“Losing her husband and losing the vote seems like punishment enough for me.”

“She hasn’t lost the vote yet,” Cosimo said.

“If your capos are smart, they will understand quickly that they can either have a bloody war if she becomes don, or prosperity if you do.” He paused. “As for what to do with her after, I will leave that to you.”

“Your mother will accept that?” Cosimo asked. “Somehow, I doubt that. She’s spent decades planning her revenge.”

Dominic’s lips tightened. “Mamma acted on her own before. I will steer her in the right direction. The men in my family are loyal to me. They won’t do her bidding if I forbid them from doing so. Many of them believe your family’s debt to ours was settled the night of the bomb. Few have appetite for more bloodshed, especially not if we manage to make peace look profitable for them.”

“I’m going to need to see some proof that you’re in charge of your family.”

“And I will be glad to provide it.” Dominic glanced out the window at the cloud cover below. “We have more than enough time to work through the details before the vote. So I hope you won’t mind if I—” He settled back in his seat, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. “Take a midday nap.”

I had to bite back a laugh at Cosimo’s irritated expression.

“Seriously?” he said.

“I like to nap from two to three in the afternoon every day.” Dominic kept his eyes closed. “Ensures I have sufficient energy for the evening and whatever vigorous activities it may bring.” A faint smile curved his lips. “You should give it a try.”

Cosimo shook his head, muttering something about ridiculous Italians under his breath while I tried not to laugh.

This was going to be a memorable holiday season.

The cabin grew quiet. A few moments passed, and Dominic jerked lightly, apparently already fast asleep.

I couldn’t even imagine taking a nap right now. A restless energy vibrated beneath my skin. Cosimo and I hadn’t had a chance to talk properly since leaving Dominic’s villa, and our fight from last night still lingered between us, unresolved.

He caught my eye, and his hand tightened around mine. Wordlessly, he got to his feet and pulled me up with him. He led us toward the bedroom in the back.

Nerves tangled inside me. Was he angry I left? He didn’t seem angry at me when he’d found me, just relieved and…shaken.

I’d never seen him look shaken before. Was he really that worried about me? Something raw and tender pulsed inside my chest at the thought. I didn’t want to read into it, to imagine things I so badly wanted to be true.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind me, and Cosimo drew me against him. “Christ, Nettle. I didn’t know real fear until I couldn’t find you.”

I closed my eyes, pressing my face into his shirt, absorbing his heat and his scent.

“Thank fucking God you’re okay. I would’ve burned that entire fucking town to the ground if something had happened to you.”

The anguish in his voice made a fist tighten around my heart, but still I wondered—had he been worried because of how it would reflect on him if something happened to his new wife? Or because of how he felt about me?

He made a short, hard exhale. “I’m so sorry, baby. All of this could’ve been avoided if I’d just agreed to go back there with you this morning. But I was too stubborn, too stuck in my own ways to realize you were making the right call.”

The backs of my eyes stung. It’d hurt when he’d dismissed me, but going back to Nunzio’s workshop on my own had also given me an opportunity to prove something important to myself.

I didn’t have to choose between having faith in people and being discerning.

I could be both.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” I said.

His hand moved slowly down my back. “I should’ve listened to you. But damn it, Nettle. You can’t ever go off into a dangerous situation like that in the future, all right? I can’t handle it. You mean too much to me.”

My breath hitched. “I do?”

He drew back far enough to look at me, and I saw remorse darkening his eyes. “The things I said about you not being my partner, about there being nothing between us except the deal? It’s bullshit. I’m an idiot.” He exhaled and lowered his forehead to mine. “When you said you’d changed your mind that night, I pretended I was asleep, but I heard you.” His lips brushed over mine.

My heart slammed against my ribs. He heard me? He knew I didn’t want a second chance with another man? Did he understand that what I was really trying to say was that I wanted him? A bolt of adrenaline rushed through me. Adrenaline threaded with…hope.

“I changed my mind too,” he said in a low voice. “I’m done denying how I feel about you.”

The hope grew.

“Do you know one of the reasons why I insisted on a marriage that would only last six months?” he asked.

Slowly, I shook my head.

“Because I was drawn to you from the moment I met you. I couldn’t explain it, and it terrified me. Every time I saw you, it got worse. And worse. And worse.” His mouth twisted, almost ruefully. “Then we had that dinner and I understood just how good and genuine you were, and I was fucking slayed. I couldn’t believe that someone like you could exist in this wretched world. I knew if I let myself get close to you, I’d fall hard.” He brushed a strand behind my ear. “I was right.”

I stared at him, stunned. It didn’t make sense. “You hated me in the beginning.”

“I never hated you. I wanted you so badly that I pushed you away every way I knew how.” His voice roughened. “I kept telling myself I wouldn’t be like my father. That I wouldn’t let a woman have power over me the way Vita had over him. But I’m done letting their story define ours.” His eyes burned into mine. “I fucking love you, Nettle.”

The words simmered with pent-up emotion, as if he’d packed every ounce of affection and tenderness he’d hidden from me over the last few months into them.

My throat tightened. “I love you too.”

A grin curved over his face, transforming it, before he leaned down and pressed his mouth against mine. The kiss was soft at first, almost disbelieving, as though he needed to feel the words between us before he could trust them. Then his palm tightened around my jaw and the kiss deepened. I rose onto my toes and clutched the front of his shirt, wanting to hold on to the moment before the rest of the world found its way back in.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted us. Cosimo pulled away with obvious reluctance. The flight attendant called through the door, asking us to return to our seats because the pilot was anticipating turbulence.

He held my face between his palms and rested his forehead against mine. “The next few days are going to be busy, and we still have a lot to discuss,” he said. “Can you be patient with me?”

“Of course.”

The seat belt sign chimed overhead, and Cosimo drew in a deep breath before finally letting me go.

My head was still spinning when we returned to the main cabin and took our seats. His words echoed through me, so impossible and wonderful that part of me wondered whether I had imagined them.

But he was right. The next few days would be busy. He still had his mother to deal with, a vote to win, and a half brother to introduce to the rest of his family.

I had been patient this long.

I could hold on for a few more days.

CHAPTER 45

COSIMO

“Last Christmas” drifted in from the living room, seeping under my office door. I studied my half brother from behind the desk, my hands clasped in front of me.

The fucker seemed to have forgotten how to sit the moment he entered my house. Instead, he sprawled like he wanted to mark my territory as his own.

That’s what he was doing right now on the office sofa—half lying, half upright—with a newspaper spread open next to him. An actual physical newspaper that he’d requested from the maid after she’d made the mistake of asking whether there was anything she could do to make him more comfortable.

Apparently, there was quite a lot.

An extra set of goose-down pillows. A bathrobe in a very specific shade of navy. Fluffier towels. “A few” special items at breakfast.

Fabiana and I had come downstairs that morning to find a full fucking buffet laid out across the dining room table.

If Dominic kept this up, I was going to start charging him a daily rate.

Fabiana had only laughed when I muttered that to her. In fact, she’d looked delighted by the spread, which had taken some of the edge off my irritation. And made me worry I hadn’t been feeding her enough until now.

She would’ve said something about that to me, right? Maybe not.

I’d watched her and Dominic fall into easy conversation over croissants and jam while I drank my coffee and cataloged all the ways I’d failed to make Nettle comfortable in my home.

Our home. She wasn’t leaving it. Not in six months, not ever.

She just didn’t know it yet.

I wanted to handle that conversation with care, and that meant waiting until after the vote in a few days. The moment we’d landed, my phone had started to blow up. One of Alvarez’s shipments had been seized by the DEA, and I’d had to deal with that mess on top of negotiating with Dominic.

“You know,” I said to Dominic, “you can read the news on your phone. Like normal people have been doing for the past twenty years.”

Dominic didn’t lower the paper. “Yes, but then you miss the tactile experience.” He turned a page. “The feel of the pages under your fingertips. The smell of the ink and pulp. It engages more of the senses. Turns something mundane into something enjoyable.”

Annoyingly enough, I understood what he was saying.

My brothers—my younger brothers—liked to call me a luddite because I hated spending time staring at screens unless work demanded it. I always tried to print off any contracts I needed to review so that I could read them on paper.

But I wasn’t about to admit to Dominic that we had something in common. The man was already far too comfortable in my house.

“Life is here to be enjoyed, little brother,” he said and lowered the paper just enough so I could see his gray-blue eyes. “Spend a little more time with me, and I’ll show you how to live the Italian way.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d been doing that so often since meeting him that they were eventually going to get stuck facing the back of my skull.

He was annoying as hell, but after spending a good bit of time with him in preparation for this meeting with my brothers, I’d started to develop a reluctant respect for him.

He was sharp. Strategic. And far more reasonable than I’d expected when it came to the terms he was asking for.

The fact that he was family meant something too. I just hoped my brothers would see it the same way.

The sound of voices drifted down the hallway—Romolo’s first, then Alessio’s.

The door opened, and the two of them walked in. Rom wore a plain red sweater like a normal person. Alessio, on the other hand, appeared to have taken Fabiana’s suggestion about Christmas sweaters as a personal challenge. The green monstrosity stretched across his chest had blinking lights sewn into it and three snowmen bumping against each other above the words Rollin’ with my snowmies.

What the fuck? This was supposed to be a serious meeting. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“You look like you’re expecting a lump of coal under the tree,” Romolo commented on my expression as he approached.

I sighed. “Sit down.”

Alessio’s eyes went to Dominic, who was folding the newspaper away. “This is the new business partner you want us to meet?”

“Can you just sit down first?” I ground out. “And turn off those lights. They’re giving me a migraine.”

Les clucked his tongue as he reached under the sweater. “You’ve got no holiday spirit.”

“I thought that particular scolding tone of Cosimo’s was reserved exclusively for me.” Dominic smiled at Les like they shared some private joke, which only irritated me further. He hadn’t even met him properly, for fuck’s sake.

Romolo finally dropped into one of the chairs. “Nah. He talks to everyone like that. We’ve all learned to live with it.”

“You’ll have to give me some pointers,” Dominic said. “My feelings may not survive much longer.”

Rom let out an amused scoff.

My temple twitched. Christ. Was this man capable of winning over everyone in a room within thirty seconds?

Alessio sat down beside Romolo, eyeing Dominic curiously. “Who are you exactly?”

I blew out a breath. “This is Dominic Santoro.”

That killed the cheery mood fast. Romolo straightened. Alessio grew very still, his expression going cold.

“He seems awfully calm,” Alessio said, “for a man who’s not going to walk out of here alive.”

“We’re not going to do anything to him.”

“And why the hell not?” Romolo asked.

I dragged my tongue over my teeth and ripped the Band-Aid right off. “Because he’s our brother.”

Silence.

Romolo looked between Dominic and me. “Did someone spike my coffee?”

“If they spiked yours,” Alessio said, standing up, “they spiked mine too. Because I could’ve sworn Cos just said this man is our brother.”

“Half brother to be precise,” Dominic said pleasantly. “Same father. Different mother.”

I brought them up to speed. When I was finished, Rom and Les stayed quiet for a moment, both squinting at Dominic with some mixture of shock and suspicion.

“I don’t know if I buy it,” Rom said.

“He does look like Dad,” Alessio muttered as he moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table right in front of Dominic. He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, studying Dominic’s face.

“Shouldn’t we do a DNA test or something?” Rom asked.

I reached for the journal sitting on my desk. Fabiana had shown me photos of it on the flight home and pointed out one particular drawing.

I opened to the page she’d marked and turned it toward them. “We could. But I don’t think we need to.” I pointed to the boy in the tree, above the three others playing in the grass. “At first, Fabiana thought it was a drawing of the three of us, but look at the boy in the tree and the letter on the back of his sweater.”

D.

Alessio took the journal from me. After a few seconds, he passed it to Rom.

“There’s some text underneath,” Rom muttered. “Dad wrote, I hope that one day my sons will visit Villa Lucente, the place where I spent many happy summers.”

Alessio shook his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it means our father wanted the four of us to find each other eventually,” I said. “Even if he never told us we have a half brother.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Romolo rested an ankle over his knee, brow furrowed, rubbing at his mouth while he processed everything. Alessio still kept his eyes on Dominic, as if he didn’t fully trust what might happen if he let him out of his sight.

To Dominic’s credit, he didn’t seem to be bothered by their apprehensive reaction. He wore a magnanimous smile while he waited for them to come to terms with the situation.

“So what’s next?” Les asked eventually.

“Dominic and I have been talking. We think the best way through this conflict is for us to make a deal.”

Rom’s expression darkened. “A deal. With the man whose family killed our father.”

“To be clear,” Dominic said, “I did not issue that order. That was Mamma.” A pause. “I imagine the three of you understand better than most what it is to have a mother whose decisions you don’t endorse.”

Alessio frowned. “I guess so, but the capos want vengeance. This deal needs to be very fucking convincing. What exactly are we talking about?”

“We partner on a massive development in Hudson Yards,” Dominic said. “I have the capital, and the Ferraros have the relationships and the infrastructure needed to get it built. In return for your assistance, I’ll grant you the construction and security contracts. Should bring in close to half a billion over five years and provide steady dividends for the capos.”

Romolo’s fingers tapped against his thigh. “Have you assembled a team to⁠—”

“We’ve discussed some things,” I interrupted. “But I don’t want to get into it tonight. Let’s enjoy the evening. Get to know each other a little better. Holiday spirit and all that.”

Les huffed.

“From tomorrow, every available hour goes toward ironing out the terms of the deal. The vote is soon. We have only a few days. We all need to feel completely comfortable before we put anything in front of the capos. Whatever we present has to be airtight.” I looked at each of them in turn. “Understood?”

Romolo and Alessio nodded.

“Well then,” Dominic rose from the sofa, “let’s get back out there. Your wife was quite clear that dinner starts at seven. I wouldn’t want to upset her.”

I glowered at him. Did he think I wasn’t keeping an eye on the clock? “Let me worry about my wife.”

“I love that sweater, by the way,” Dominic said to Alessio as they headed out.

“Yeah? The snowmen are supposed to be me, Rom, and Cos,” Alessio told him. “I had it custom-made online. Next year—if this all works out and Cos doesn’t ask me to kill you—I’ll get one with you in it.”

Dominic looked touched. “That is so sweet.”

I rolled my eyes—again—and followed after them.

CHAPTER 46

FABIANA

More than a dozen guests milled around our living room on Christmas Eve. The original celebration had been planned at Rafe and Cleo’s, but a burst pipe in their house had forced a last-minute change of venue.

Somehow, the staff had worked miracles in less than twenty-four hours. A ten-foot tree sparkled in the corner beside the window, garlands of pine stretched across the shelves, and Christmas stockings hung from the mantel. There wasn’t a single sign that tonight had been thrown together in a bit of panic, and Cosimo’s home felt warmer and more welcoming than it ever had.

Cleo’s sisters, Gemma and Valentina, were both here with their husbands, and Gemma had also brought her and Ras’s baby. Massimo had been passed from lap to lap from the moment he’d arrived and was making his way around the room with the serene indifference of someone who hadn’t yet learned to be suspicious of strangers.

I heard Cosimo’s voice before I saw him. That low, commanding tenor of his still made a shiver run down my spine. He emerged from a hallway dressed in a blue sweater that brought out those eyes of his I loved so much.

When he spotted me across the room, his lips curved into a subtle smile. He touched my brother on the arm and said something in his ear before the two men walked away.

Relief loosened the small knot that had been sitting in my chest.

So everything had gone well.

Cosimo had said to me that if the conversation with Alessio, Romolo, and Dominic went the way he hoped, he would bring Rafe up to speed tonight as well. Cosimo wanted his explicit support. If Rafe endorsed the deal between Cosimo and Dominic, the capos would have even less reason to vote for Vita. Whatever favors she’d managed to buy for herself wouldn’t be enough to get her what she wanted.

At least that’s what I hoped. According to Cosimo, there were still a lot of things to iron out with the deal itself, but for now, I was hopeful.

“So that’s the half brother?” Mia asked, looking at Dominic curiously. She and I sat on one of the sofas drinking mulled wine out of some of the mugs I’d made. I’d filled her in on Italy in the last twenty minutes while Rom and Les had been getting the news from Cosimo. It hadn’t been quite the honeymoon she’d been expecting me to report back on, but she’d taken it all in stride.

“Yep. Want to meet him?” I lifted a hand. “Dominic.”

He turned at once, flashing me one of his effortless smiles, and crossed the room with a glass of champagne in hand. It seemed I rarely saw him without one of those after five o’clock. According to him, you could always find something to celebrate if you really put your mind to it.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” He took Mia’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Dominic Santoro.”

“Mia Morales,” she said a little stiffly, still clearly trying to make sense of the fact that Cosimo had returned from Italy with a new sibling.

“Ah. The daughter of the man we were hoping to have elected.” Dominic released her hand. “You thoroughly ruined all of our plans.”

Mia lifted her chin. “I’m not even a little sorry.”

The corner of his mouth curved. “Good. I’ve always found a woman without regrets far more interesting than one full of them.”

Romolo appeared beside us and rested a possessive hand on Mia’s shoulder. “I see you’ve already met our newly discovered brother.”

Dominic’s attention dropped briefly to Romolo’s hand before returning to his face. “The two of you are together. How very Romeo and Juliet.” Amusement tugged at his mouth. “You’ll have to tell me the full story one day.”

Romolo gave him a cool look. He clearly hadn’t warmed to Dominic yet, although I suspected that had less to do with who he was and more to do with the way he’d just kissed Mia’s hand.

“If we manage to reach an agreement,” Rom said, “we can have dinner at the Golden Circle, and I’ll tell you all about it.” He held a hand out to Mia. “Come on. Let’s get another drink.”

“What’s the Golden Circle?” Dominic asked as they walked away.

“A private club,” Alessio said, moving closer to where we sat. “A little too stuffy for me.”

Dominic cocked a brow. “And what about you? Is anyone joining you this evening?”

Alessio looked down at his glass. “Nope,” he said a little sadly.

Alessio and I hadn’t spoken much—his reputation for brutality was extreme even in our circles—but looking at him now, I found it hard to imagine him being the guy everyone said he was. I wondered if, like his older brother, he hid a multitude of layers few ever got to see.

Dominic raised his champagne toward him. “Then we can stick together. I’m also currently single.”

Alessio clinked his glass against Dominic’s. “Good. We needed another single man in the house. I was starting to feel like the odd one out in this sea of couples.” They drank in solidarity.

I smiled to myself. Given enough time—and provided none of them killed each other first—I had a feeling the four brothers would get along just fine.

The doorbell rang.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” Alessio asked.

“I don’t think so.” I frowned toward the hallway. “Oh, wait⁠—”

One of the maids appeared in the doorway, nearly obscured by the enormous number of gift bags she was trying to carry through the entrance. Behind her came Nina in an oversized wool scarf wrapped around her neck, her cheeks pink from the cold, and two more bags hanging from her hands.

I completely forgot she’d said she wanted to drop by.

“You haven’t sat down for dinner yet,” she announced to the room. “Oh good. I thought I was going to arrive in the middle of the first course.” She dropped the bags near the tree and hurried over to press a kiss to my cheek. “I only came to deliver these before I have to rush to my parents’. I was supposed to be here an hour ago, but traffic was insane.”

“Nina.” I stared at the mountain of bags. “You said you had a few small presents.”

“Well, I couldn’t only bring you something. I had to get gifts for everyone, and my God, it is so fun shopping for babies.” She started unwinding her scarf and then swept her gaze around the room.

It landed on Dominic.

She stopped.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I didn’t get you a gift.” She shot me an accusing look. “Fabi, you didn’t send me the full guest list?”

I winced. “Sorry. There was a last-minute addition.”

Dominic was watching Nina with an intensity I hadn’t seen from him all evening. The easy amusement was still there, but there was something sharper beneath it.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said to her. “I didn’t bring gifts for anyone. Although my presence should count.”

Nina tore her gaze from him and arched a brow at me.

“Come sit down,” I said, gently steering her toward the sofa. “A lot happened in Italy.”

She lowered herself directly beside Dominic. For the briefest second, he seemed to stiffen.

Interesting.

“What’s your name, surprise visitor?” he asked.

“I’m not a visitor,” Nina said. “I’m family.”

“Family?”

“Cosimo, Rom, and Alessio are my cousins. My mom is Vita Ferraro’s sister.” She paused. “But don’t hold that against me. And who are you, exactly?”

“Dominic Santoro.”

“Cosimo’s half brother,” I added with a smile. “Let me fill you in.”

“Wow,” she said after I’d briefed her. “A lot did happen in Italy.” She glanced at the time. “I have a lot of questions, but I’ll have to save them for later. I’ve really got to go. Talk to you next week?”

“Sure.” I walked her out, and when I came back, Rafe and Cosimo had reappeared in the living room. I made a beeline to my husband, my curiosity eating at me.

“How did it all go with your brothers?” I asked.

He wrapped an arm around my waist. “Smooth. We didn’t even raise our voices.”

“And with Rafe?”

“He took it in stride. His support didn’t waver for a moment.”

I nodded. “Good. We’re family. And family backs each other.”

“I have to admit this marriage tied us together in a way that no straightforward incentive ever could have.”

The marriage.

I rolled my lips. We still hadn’t discussed explicitly what would happen at the end of the six months we’d previously agreed to. Had this become a real marriage for Cosimo? Or was he still leaving an exit door open for himself?

Things had been good between us since Italy. More than good. But loving me now didn’t necessarily mean he was ready to choose me for the rest of his life.

And was I ready to choose him?

My heart answered before the rest of me could.

Yes.

But it was the kind of commitment we had to make together with our eyes wide open. And we hadn’t talked about it yet. Not outright.

Cosimo tugged me against him, his palm warm and solid on my hip. The room hummed around us, filled with our friends and family, and it was easy to relax into the moment.

It felt warm. And cozy. And right.

It hit me then, straight in the chest. I belonged here. Not some version of myself that I presented, hoping it would be the right one, but the real me.

There was nothing to prove, nothing to explain to the people around me. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt at home.

I looked up at Cosimo only to catch him already looking down at me, his gaze flickering with something so possessive it sent a rush of heat through me.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. “Have I ever told you how much I love the way you fit against me?”

I bit on my bottom lip. “You haven’t. And honestly, I have no idea what you mean.”

He moved behind me, fitting his body to mine until his warmth surrounded me and every hard line of him pressed against my back. “Then I suppose I’ll have to show you later tonight.”

A smile tugged at my mouth as I sank into him.

It should have been perfect.

It almost was.

Except the marriage that finally felt so right still had an expiration date.

I didn’t want to press him for answers right now. He had the vote coming up and was still negotiating with Dominic. Things seemed to be going well, but there was still the risk that Vita would try something. The woman was capable of anything.

So I told myself to enjoy this.

Our whole relationship had developed during a period of upheaval and turmoil. Once Cosimo was sworn in and the dust finally settled, we would have time to talk about what came next.

Time to find out whether the future I was quietly beginning to imagine was one he wanted too.

CHAPTER 47

COSIMO

There was a room in one of our Midtown office buildings where many of the important family meetings were held. But none had been as important as this one.

There were no windows, one door, a table long enough to seat eighteen. Soundproof panels lined the walls and the ceiling. At around eight o’clock, the last of the employees at the property management company that occupied the building clocked out. By nine o’clock, the whole place had been swept for bugs, the hallway cameras had been disabled, and two trusted soldiers were stationed at the only door.

The furniture inside the room was well-made but old. The first time Dad brought me here, shortly after I became a capo, I asked him why we made our biggest decisions in such an inconspicuous place.

His answer had stayed with me.

It reminds everyone who comes in here to stay humble. It’s easy to start imagining we’re kings, but that’s not what we are. We all serve something bigger than ourselves. The men at this table serve me, and I serve the family.

The family.

It was a name for a group of people, but more than that, it was an idea. And ideas outlived every man who served them.

I wondered when Father had realized he’d betrayed that idea by listening to Vita and turning his back on Rena Santoro. The drawing in his journal told me he had understood eventually.

I’d always believed his greatest mistake was loving too deeply.

I’d been wrong.

His mistake was giving all that love to the wrong woman.

At quarter past nine, the capos filed in. Rom and Alessio sat on each side of me, their presence grounding and familiar.

The capos filled the seats around the table, but they left the spot directly across from me open. That empty fucking chair mocked me. They all clearly knew what was about to happen next, which explained why none of them so much as blinked when Mother walked in a few moments later and took that seat.

Vita folded her hands on the table and surveyed the room. “Shall we begin?” she asked, as though her presence here was completely normal.

A cold smile pulled at my mouth. “What are you doing here, Mother? This vote involves the capos, my brothers, and me.” I wanted her to articulate her betrayal plainly so that she’d have nothing to hide behind later.

Her mild expression didn’t change. “As I have already communicated to the caporegimes, your father did not explicitly leave the family to you in his will. The succession is therefore unclear. I am putting myself forward as a candidate.”

The nonchalance with which she spoke told me she believed she already had the votes. Several of the capos wore the guarded expressions of men who’d recently been promised something and were now wondering whether those promises would hold. Most of the ones she’d paid refused to meet my eyes.

I leaned back in my chair. “I am his eldest son and his underboss. What you’re proposing is treason.”

She laughed. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Cosimo. We all know you were raised with certain expectations, but Gino was taken from us far too soon. We believed you would have another ten or fifteen years to prepare. You are not ready. Treason would be placing someone in that seat before he is equipped to lead.” She flattened her palms on the table and gave me the condescending smile she had used on me since childhood. “I don’t intend to hold the position forever. Just long enough for you to grow into the role.”

“And what makes you more qualified than me?”

“I ran this family alongside Gino for thirty years. I have also served as CEO of Ferraro Holdings for the last sixty days.”

“Yes. And as far as I can tell, the only thing you’ve accomplished in those sixty days is carving Ferraro Holdings into pieces and distributing them among the men sitting at this table.”

Some of the capos bristled, appearing surprised. They hadn’t expected me to know.

Neither had Vita. A faint tension appeared in her posture.

I arched a brow. “Did you honestly believe I wouldn’t find out?”

“What I’ve done,” she said after a beat, “is create stakeholders. I gave the men who built this family the incentives they deserve.”

“What you’ve done is jeopardize the reputation of a legitimate private company by putting men with criminal records on its board. We all know that arrangement can’t last. A company with Ferraro Holdings’ profile won’t survive that kind of scrutiny.” I turned to address the table. “Which means she would have found a way to take those shares back eventually.”

The mood in the room curdled.

“If my father could see this, he’d be turning in his grave at how cheaply some of you allowed yourselves to be bought.”

George cleared his throat. “Cosimo, Gino always trusted Vita. We’re all trying to do what’s best for the family.”

“Are we?” I shifted my attention to Mother. “Is she? How well do any of you truly know this woman and what drives her?”

Her jaw tightened. “And what about your motivations, Cosimo?” She angled herself toward George. “Consider what he has been doing while his father’s killers have not yet been held accountable. He abandoned his post and went on a honeymoon with his wife.”

“It wasn’t a honeymoon,” I said. “It was a working trip. My wife will have to forgive me for the distinction. The trip turned out to be highly informative. I even met someone who I invited to be present for this conversation.”

Alarm flashed in Vita’s expression, but she quickly hid it away. “What are you talking about? This is a family matter.”

“Exactly.” Sardonic amusement tugged on my lips. “Rom?”

My brother rose and went to open the door.

“This is Dominic Santoro,” I said, as Dominic stepped in.

Gasps sounded around the table. Three of the capos pushed back from their seats, their hands moving toward hips instinctually before they realized that weapons had been left outside per protocol. Vita went very still, and for the first time since we’d sat down, fear cracked her composure.

“Relax,” Rom snapped at the capos as he pulled out the chair beside him for Dominic.

“What the hell is going on, Cosimo?” George asked, his voice low. “Is this the man responsible for what happened to Gino?”

“No,” I said. “His mother is. But by the time you hear him out, I think you might have a different perspective on the entire situation.”

George’s frown deepened.

“Let’s start at the beginning.” I looked at Vita. “Mother, anything to say before I begin? After all, one could argue that the reason my father lies in the ground is because of the blood feud you started thirty years ago.”

The color left her face. I watched with satisfaction as the realization that I knew everything washed over her.

I smiled. “Like you said, this is a family affair. Since Dominic is our half brother, it’s only right he’s present.”

“Your half brother?” one of the capos called out, stunned.

I told them the full story.

“It is a shameful moment in our history,” I said once I was done. “A man refusing to protect the mother of his child. Rena Santoro had to watch her family be slaughtered around her, while my father—at Vita’s behest—refused to intervene.”

“I don’t believe it.” Marco said from the far end of the table. He was one of the old guard, a man who’d known my mother since before I was born. He shook his head slowly. “Vita’s not capable of something like that.”

“My brothers and I were raised by her,” I said. “We can tell you firsthand that she is capable of this and considerably worse. I want you to ask yourselves, why has she not said a word about any of this to you? She had all the pieces we were missing all along. She knew exactly why the Santoros were targeting us. And yet she stayed silent. She knew that helping us track down my father’s killers would expose her own role in all of this.”

The mood around the table had changed. Men who’d spent years accepting Vita’s polished version of herself were starting to revisit what they thought they knew. Doubt tightened their mouths. Their bodies drew back from the table, as if to put some distance between them and the woman they had been prepared to install at the head of the family.

Vita’s composure held, but barely. It was clearly difficult for her to remain still beneath their scrutiny. She’d spent her entire life curating what other people saw, polishing every gesture and every expression until the performance was perfect.

Being seen for what she really was terrified her. And now, every man in the room could see the rot beneath the surface.

“Everything I have ever done,” she said, a tremor entering her voice, “has been to protect this family.”

“No,” I said. “Everything you have ever done has been to hoard power and protect yourself. You’ve spent nearly thirty years doing an excellent job of convincing everyone otherwise. But it’s over now. You will never lead this family.” I turned back to the capos. “Dominic and I have been working on a deal. We see a path out of this feud that doesn’t require any more spilled blood. Dominic, will you do the honors?”

Dominic began walking the capos through the terms we had put together, and when he reached the numbers, the mood shifted again. Their remaining skepticism gave way to calculation, then to relief. My version of the Ferraros’ future offered peace that would make us stronger. And the deal would put money in their pockets that was even better than what Vita had tried to offer them.

She remained rigid in her chair, but the strain was beginning to show in the tight line of her mouth and the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She could feel the vote slipping away from her.

When Dominic finished, she surged to her feet. “This is absurd. You’re asking these men to simply set aside the fact that this family—” she gestured at Dominic “—killed your father.”

“I’m asking them to consider the full history,” I said. “Including the part where our family’s choices created this feud in the first place. You’ve claimed for thirty years that you built this family alongside my father. That may be true to some extent. But the quality that separates a don from a consort is that a don understands that the interests of the family come before their own.”

Her face hardened, but I didn’t give her a chance to interrupt.

“What you did thirty years ago is the opposite of that. It would have cost my father almost nothing to help the Santoros. It would have ended this before it began. But you were so determined to control him—so unwilling to allow him any connection to the woman carrying his child—that you pushed him into a decision that ultimately cost him his life.” I held her gaze. “If his blood is on anyone’s hands, it’s on yours.”

The room was absolutely silent.

“When it comes to the Santoro family,” I said, “I consider the matter settled.”

“That’s not for you to decide. You are not don yet,” Vita said. Her voice remained steady, but her face betrayed her. She knew what was coming. Maybe she had known from the moment Dominic walked through the door and brought the past she’d tried to bury with him.

From the far end of the table, George lifted his hand.

“I’m with Cosimo.”

Around the table, the hands went up one by one. Eight, nine, ten…

I shot a look at Rom, who still had his arms down. He met me with a serious expression, then broke into a grin and put his hand up.

Funny. I flicked my gaze back to Vita.

What now, Mother?

The expression on her face was one I’d never seen there before.

Defeat.

I’d won.

She turned to Dominic, the last of her mask melting away. Beneath it was pure, undisguised hatred.

“I told Gino you’d return,” she hissed. “Told him he should have taken care of you and your wretched mother once and for all. But he was too sentimental.”

Dominic looked completely unruffled. Almost bored. “I imagine that was deeply frustrating for a woman who believed she could have everything she wanted.”

Mother picked up her purse and walked out without another word.

The door shut behind her.

A moment later, the room broke into motion around me. Chairs scraped against the floor as the capos rose, voices overlapping as they came forward. Alessio’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder. Romolo gave my back a hard slap. Dominic and I shook hands before several of the men drew him into conversations of their own.

I accepted the congratulations, but they reached me as if from a distance. As if I was watching the scene play out from somewhere above.

My entire life had been shaped around getting to this moment. But if it wasn’t for one person who wasn’t even in the room, I would’ve never gotten here.

The seat was mine now, but I sure as hell hadn’t won it alone.

I was the don of the Ferraro family.

And when I went home to my wife, I was going to make damn sure she understood that whatever came next, I intended to face it with her beside me.

CHAPTER 48

FABIANA

The main gallery’s walls were nearly bare. I stood before one of the last remaining paintings still up in the side room, listening to the sounds of workers moving through the space.

Yesterday had been the final day of Rafe’s exhibition. Today, the art was being taken down and packed away. Most of the pieces would be returned to his house, while the rest were being prepared for loan to various museum collections.

The last time I'd been in this room, I'd been nursing a small army of worries. The missing programs. Everyone's opinions on the exhibition. Whether I'd ever get to do something like this again.

Today, there was only one thing on my mind.

I stared at Bride’s Door and wished the painting could transport me somewhere other than the vote happening across the city. Cosimo and Dominic had spent the last few days cooped up in my husband’s office, emerging only to use the bathroom and taking all their meals locked away. The few times I’d heard raised voices, I considered checking in on them but thankfully, those episodes never lasted long. 

This morning, Cosimo had given me a kiss before the two of them left for the meeting with my brother. One final conversation to make sure everyone was happy with the proposal they’d put together before they presented it tonight. 

I hoped it was enough. I wasn't sure what Cosimo would do if it wasn't, but I knew he wouldn't walk away from his family without a fight.

Two workers walked into the room, moving blankets tucked under their arms. 

“Miss?” one of them called out. “Are you ready for us to take it down?”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“Give us a couple of minutes,” a deep voice said from somewhere behind me.

My heart lurched.

I turned.

Cosimo stood in the doorway. His expression gave nothing away—no hint of whether the future he'd spent his entire life working toward had just become his, or slipped through his fingers like water.

The workers nodded, set down their blankets, and walked out. 

He was still wearing the charcoal suit he’d left home in that morning, but his tie was gone and the first few buttons of his shirt were open, revealing the dark crown of thorns circling the base of his throat. The first of his tattoos I’d ever seen.

Now, I knew all of them.

The skull on his chest, the snake weaving over his abdomen, the eagle suspended above it. I’d traced my fingertips over them often enough in the last few days that I could draw most of them from memory.

“How did it go?” My voice came out steadier than I felt.

A beat passed.

Then his mouth curved.

“I’m the new don.”

A breath rushed out of me. It was done. My God, it was done! 

“I’m so happy for you. So, so happy.” I meant it. He hadn’t just worked toward this moment for the past sixty days, but his entire life. No one could take this from him—not even Vita, who’d already taken so much.

The smile he gave me was honest and open, and I was sure I’d only ever seen it directed at me. My belly fluttered. Every part of me wanted to cross the room to him, to hold him, to kiss him, but I forced myself to stay still.

He had his victory, but I couldn't assume what it meant for us. For our marriage. My hopes had grown with every night he'd come to sleep beside me, holding me tightly against his chest, saying little with words but everything with his hands, and they had inflated so far by now that I knew—if he punctured them, I wouldn't survive the fall. So I waited. Waited for him to tell me what he wanted first.

He didn’t look away from me for a long moment. Then, his eyes moved to Bride’s Door.

“The night we met,” he said, “you told me it made you feel uncertain. You believed marriage would mean becoming someone new, and yet you hoped the person you were marrying would still make room for the parts you didn’t want to give up.”

My throat bobbed. “You remember.”

Slowly, he looked back to me, and warmth rushed through my veins at the deep affection in his gaze. “Every word.” His hand twitched at his side. “I don’t want it to make you feel uncertain anymore.” He took a step toward me. “There’s not a single part of yourself that you should give up, Fabiana. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

My chest tightened. “Not even the parts that make me unsuitable to be a don’s wife?”

A wry huff. “Those parts don’t exist. They never did. I just didn’t know any better.”

My heart raced beneath his intense gaze as he took another step closer. “The only reason you’re a don’s wife now is because you helped make me into one. None of this would have happened without you.”

Heat spread over my cheeks. “You're giving me too much credit."

He shook his head, that soft smile on his lips again. “Every time I trusted you, things went right. That's not a coincidence. I spent so long believing that trusting anyone would make me weaker. You proved me wrong."

I processed his words. Savored them. How many times had I asked him to trust me? How often had I wondered if he ever would?

He took a step toward me. “You know what that painting made me feel just now?”

“What?” I asked quietly.

“Joy. The kind that comes with stepping into a new, brighter future with someone you trust and love and want at your side for the rest of your life.”

Happiness crackled and fizzed inside my lungs even as my eyes watered. “Enough joy to justify the million-dollar price tag?”

“If you feel it too. I’ve long since realized that there is no amount of money I wouldn’t pay to make you happy.”

“That sounds very frivolous.”

“My accountant has warned me about this.”

“Maybe you should heed the man's warnings.”

“Nah. He’s got no idea what he’s talking about.” He lifted his hand, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “I want to take you back to Italy for your birthday in July. No work this time.”

The thought of it spread through me like sunlight. “July is more than five months away. Our deal will be over.”

“I want to renegotiate the terms. I'd like to change six months to sixty years.”

The gallery was very quiet as I cleared my thickening throat. “Sixty years is quite a significant adjustment. What's in it for me?”

“Everything I can give you. Which, to be clear, is considerable.” He smiled, but it fell away, quickly replaced with something so intense and raw it took my breath away. “I’m done pretending I'm willing to let you walk away. Having you by my side would be my greatest honor.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and lowered himself onto one knee. The box he took out was small and dark blue. When he opened it, I gasped.

A pear-shaped diamond of extraordinary size that caught the light from every direction. It sat atop a sleek, deeply curved band of dark ceramic, the contrast between the two stark and intentional.

“Your light to my dark,” Cosimo said softly, while I studied the ring and tried to keep myself together. “The night we came back home from Italy, I researched who knew how to combine ceramics and precious stones to make a ring I had in mind. I didn’t want to give you just a ring. I wanted to give you your ring. My research turned up a jewelry house called⁠—”

“Taffin,” I choked out. “I’ve always wanted one of their pieces.”

Something deeply relieved passed over his expression. “They worked around the clock on this for me. I hope I got it right.”

“It's beautiful,” I breathed. "Cosimo, it’s perfect.”

He took the ring out of the box and lifted my hand. “Will you marry me?”

The new Ferraro don sounded a little nervous.

I sucked in a deep breath. “No expiration date this time?”

“I want forever.”

I laughed, and it came out slightly broken. “Good. So do I.”

The tension in his shoulders released. He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly.

He rose to his feet and I reached for him at the same time he reached for me. He lifted me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and our lips met.

The gallery space, the painting hanging above us, the sound of the workers doing something in the room next door all disappeared.

My world shrank to the grip of his hands at my hips and the way he kissed me like I was something fragile and precious and entirely his.

EPILOGUE

COSIMO

1 month later

I stood over the stove in a pair of boxer briefs and a denim apron, watching the polenta spit angrily in the pan. “I have a feeling we’re going to have to order in. This isn’t looking good.”

Fabiana came up beside me and peered into the pot. “You just need to add a bit more water.”

“How much?”

She shrugged. “Eyeball it.”

This woman. “If you allowed me to use measuring cups, this would be going better,” I grumbled as I moved to the sink. She insisted on making this far more difficult than it needed to be.

“Baking is all about precision, but cooking is an art, my darling.” Her arms slid around my waist from behind, and she pressed her lips to my bare back. Just like that, the irritation drained out of me. She’d developed an uncanny ability to dismantle my dark moods with one touch. “It can be a great creative outlet. Trust me, you need one of those.”

I held a glass beneath the tap and reached behind me to smack her ass. “I already have one. You think making you come three times in a row doesn’t require creativity?”

A flush spread across her cheeks. “Okay, you might have a point.”

I grinned and returned to the stove and poured in what looked like a perfectly reasonable amount of water. The polenta hissed in protest.

Fabiana tsked. “Too much.”

“You said to eyeball it,” I complained.

“Yes, eyeball it. Not drown it.” She shot me an amused look. “That’s okay. It won’t ruin it if it’s a bit thin.”

“I’m waiting for the moment you demote me to chopping vegetables.”

That tended to happen.

Shortly after Nettle had agreed to marry me for real, we’d started a new tradition. Every Friday night, we stayed home and made dinner together. Most weeks, I was eventually relegated to preparing the salad while Fabiana handled anything that required intuition or the ability to follow useless instructions like “add a splash” or “mix until it looks right”.

I didn’t mind. It gave me an excuse to watch her move around the kitchen. And watching my wife had quickly become one of my favorite pastimes.

She tasted sauces straight from the spoon. She hummed under her breath whenever she forgot I was there. She left cabinet doors ajar and put utensils back wherever the hell she felt like it.

And she always tied her hair up before she began cooking, although tonight loose curls had escaped and framed her face. I loved her hair. Loved twisting it around my fist. Loved finding strands of it clinging to my suits during meetings. Loved waking every morning to see it spread across my pillow as proof that she was still there.

She’d long since moved into my bedroom, scattering traces of herself there and everywhere else in the house.

It wasn’t until the day she apologized for leaving glaze samples across the dining table that I realized I didn’t mind any of it. Me, a man who had once prized order, precision, and austerity. That was when I understood how much I’d changed since she came into my life—and how much more I liked this version of myself.

I wasn’t lonely.

“It’s almost ready,” she said, stirring the pot of braised beef she’d been working on.

“I’ll get the bowls.” I touched the small of her back as I passed. That constant need to touch her still caught me off guard sometimes. If she was within reach, my hand found her, as though some part of me needed continuous confirmation that she was mine and exactly where she belonged. 

People had noticed. My brothers, her friends, even Rafaele. The last time I saw him, he’d asked whether we were already trying for children.

Apparently, we were giving off that impression.

The thought of a little girl with Nettle’s curls and my temper running through this house did something violent to my chest.

But I also wanted her to myself for a while longer.

Selfish? Absolutely.

I’d spent months fighting what I felt for her and had only just stopped being an idiot. I wasn’t ready to share her attention yet, even with someone who would have her eyes and my surname.

I opened the cupboard and took out two beige bowls painted with small black birds along the bottom. Like most of Nettle’s work, they were intentionally imperfect. One bird was slightly larger than the other, and the rim of my bowl dipped on one side.

“Your latest creations,” I said, setting them to the right of the stove, “might be my favorite.”

Fabiana shot me a warm look. “You say that every time.”

“Because you keep getting better.”

The plain black dishes I’d owned before she moved in had disappeared weeks ago. I’d told her to replace all of them with pieces she made herself. She’d stared at me as if I’d casually told her to burn down the house. Then, she told me it would take months.

I’d said, I didn’t care.

She’d asked me if I was sure. Not everything would match. Some of it might not even be practical.

She still hadn’t understood. Even after everything, she still expected me to only tolerate her in careful doses.

I wanted all of her. Every piece she’d give me and more. And I wanted to give her the world, but the one thing I would never give her was permission to make herself smaller for me or anyone else. If it took the rest of my life to break that instinct in her, then that was how long I’d spend doing it.

So I’d told her I knew exactly what I wanted and that she could stop trying to negotiate me out of it.

A few weeks later, she finally began to relax into the house. Into us. 

And somewhere along the way, pottery became more than a hobby. I’d noticed it before she had, because I noticed everything about her. She came home from the studio energized, even when she was exhausted. 

She loved making things.

When she’d mentioned offhand that she was considering opening a ceramics shop one day, I secured a space for her in SoHo the following week. It was in a building we owned and it had been sitting empty, but I knew it would be perfect for her.

“It was only an idea,” she’d said when I handed her the keys, her expression slightly panicked.

“Now it can be real. Go get it, Nettle. No excuses.”

She’d accused me of being insane, but she kept the space. The store had consumed most of her attention over the last few weeks. Tonight, drawings of the proposed interior covered the kitchen island.

“The contractor needs an answer about the display shelving by Monday,” she said as she spooned polenta and the beef into the bowls.

“Is that a problem?” She’d said it like it was.

“I’m reconsidering the layout.” She handed me one of the bowls. The smell made my mouth water.

I leaned back against the counter. “What’s wrong with what we reviewed two nights ago?”

“I was thinking I might use the front half of the store to feature work from other ceramicists.”

I frowned. “Why?”

She grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack. “It would give customers more variety. And I’m not sure I’ll have enough inventory of my own by the opening. What if people don’t like my work? Having other artists’ pieces there would⁠—”

I pressed a finger to her lips. “You’re not opening a gallery to show off other people’s work, Nettle.”

“It isn’t a gallery. It’s a ceramics store.”

“Then fill it with your ceramics.”

She gave me an exasperated look. “I just told you I might not have enough.”

“So delay the opening. You’re the boss.”

“Cosimo—”

“If you need it, take another month. Or three.” I stepped closer, bracing one hand on the counter beside her. “But I’m not going to watch you build something for yourself and then hide behind other people the second it becomes real. You need to stop being afraid of being seen.”

Her lips parted, and a wry smile appeared on her lips. “When did you get so good at knowing what I need?”

I bent and kissed her. “Probably around the time you got so good at getting me to tell you anything you want to know.”

She loved asking questions. Sometimes I wondered whether her fascination with me matched mine with her, but I doubted that was possible.

I did tell her everything. The issues with some of the capos that came with the position. The progress Dominic and I were making on the development. Even the thoughts about Vita that still surfaced when my mind had time to wander.

I’d exiled her to one of our properties in California. Once the truth about what she’d convinced Dad to do all those years ago spread through the family, people had turned cold toward her. Without their loyalty, she’d lost the soft power she had spent decades collecting.

She was neutralized. For now.

I kept her under close surveillance, because I wasn’t stupid enough to assume a woman like Vita would surrender simply because she’d played her cards and lost. Sometimes I wondered whether she would let go of her hunger for power or become like Dominic’s mother—far away yet hungry for revenge.

A part of me wished she would give me a reason to take more permanent measures.

But for now, I was happy to keep her far away from the life I’d managed to build. Life with an extraordinary woman who I trusted and loved.

“Grab the wine glasses,” Fabiana told me. I watched her ass sway as she walked out of the kitchen, then took two glasses from the shelf and followed her.

We carried our food into the living room and settled on the rug beside the fireplace, placing the bowls on the coffee table. Beyond the windows, snow drifted down, covering the grounds in white.

January was the coldest month of the year, but the house felt warm.

And that had nothing to do with the fire, and everything to do with her.

Thank you so much for reading Marry Me Not!

Want more Fabi & Cosimo? Get the bonus scene—featuring Fabi’s epic birthday trip and Cosimo’s elaborate plans to make his wife feel special.

Sign up for my newsletter to download it now!

Preorder book 3 in House of Ferraro

Q&A WITH AUTHOR GABRIELLE SANDS

A Q&A again?

Yes! A few of you messaged me to say that you loved the Q&A I included at the back of Be With Me, so I thought I’d do it again. Although it was very few of you. Like, three people. My feelings were a bit hurt.

A sensitive baby like Fabi, aren’t you?

Actually, I usually relate to my heroes more than the heroines. Despite their outwardly cold exteriors and resting bitch faces, they’re soft and gooey on the inside.

So yes. Basically me. :)

You’ve been working on this book for a long time. What’s up? Too busy enjoying your book money on a beach somewhere?

I wish. I truly do. Unfortunately, the reality was a lot less glamorous. A lot was happening in my personal life while I was working on MMN. I started writing this story while moving to a new country and being pregnant, which, in hindsight, may not have been my smartest decision. There were a lot of starts, stops, and rewritten words.

Close to 100,000 rewritten words.

I swear I’m not crying.

Did Cosimo and Fabiana come to you easily?

Definitely not. For a long time, these two refused to speak to me. I always knew Cosimo would have deep trust issues and a thick shell he hid behind, but Fabiana surprised me.

I tried on several different versions of her before finding the one that felt right. In the end, the Fabiana who resonated most was openhearted, tender, and a little insecure—but also strong enough to push back when pushed too far.

Favorite scenes to write?

The brothers in the office, sitting around trying to have a meeting while Cos is stalking Fabiana. I just love having those three in the same room.

Also, the scene where Cosimo buys the dress and has to use four credit cards to pay for it. That poor man.

Speaking of brothers, was Dominic always supposed to appear in this book?

Nope. Dominic was one of the biggest surprises for me.

My original plan was to save his reveal until book three, but while writing Marry Me Not, it became clear that he had an important role to play in Cosimo and Fabi’s story.

In fact, the ending didn’t fully click into place until I realized I needed to bring him explicitly onto the page and reveal the secret around which this entire series was planned.

So this is why the series was always going to have four books?

Exactly. I loved reading all your theories about who the fourth character might be, but I don’t think any of you guessed this possibility!

How do you feel now that the book is finally finished?

Relieved. Proud. Emotional. Ready for that beach. Hopefully enough of you will buy this one to fund the glamorous lifestyle I’m supposed to have. Why did you think I became an author?!

Anything else to say?

There were plenty of moments when I wasn’t sure the story would come together. I’m so glad I didn’t give up on it and that I gave Cosimo and Fabi everything I had.

I hope their story made you feel something—and that it stays with you for a while!

What’s the best way readers can support the book?

Please leave an honest review on Amazon, Goodreads, or BookBub! Reviews help new readers discover the book and are one of the most meaningful ways you can support an author.

JOIN GABRIELLE’S GALS

Talk about Marry Me Not with other readers and get access to exclusive content in Gabrielle’s reader group!

ALSO BY GABRIELLE SANDS

HOUSE OF FERRARO

Be With Me: Mia & Romolo

THE FALLEN

When She Unravels: Valentina & Damiano

When She Tempts: Martina & Giorgio

When She Falls: Gemma & Ras

When She Loves: Cleo & Rafaele

FALLEN GOD DUET

When He Desires: Blake & Nero

When He Takes: Blake & Nero

All of Gabrielle’s books are set in the same dark world filled with romance, suspense, and mafia intrigue.

Copyright © 2026 by Gabrielle Sands

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, places, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.

www.gabriellesands.com